


Once Upon a Different Lifetime

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, M/M, Mind Control, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Romance, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the final test, Harry makes Eggsy a promise: once he is a Kingsman, they will talk about their future together. Then V-Day happens, and although Harry recovers, he doesn't remember that last day he spent with Eggsy. Now Eggsy has to carry on like his heart isn't breaking every time he looks at Harry and he thinks about what they might have had. He manages to do a good job of it, though, keeping things between them strictly professional.</p><p>So then, of course, Harry remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is rated Mature for now, but that's subject to change, depending on what future chapters hold. Other warnings may be added as necessary.

"So how about it then?" he asks sometime after his fourth martini. His shoes are off, his jacket tossed somewhere he can't recall. He's pleasantly drunk, feeling nicely warm all over.

"How about what?" Harry asks. He's seated in the armchair to the left of the couch. He hasn't come quite as undone as Eggsy, but the shoulder holsters are long gone, as well as his tie. He's loosened the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, revealing rather nice forearms. He's not drunk, though, Eggsy's certain of that.

(Well, pretty certain.)

"Your name in the paper," he says. "How many times?"

"Just the once, I'm afraid," Harry says with a bit of a smile.

This is about what Eggsy was expecting, but he can't deny the little thrill that goes through him at having his suspicions (hopes?) confirmed. "Well, you was definitely born," he says. "So no marriage, huh?"

"No," Harry replies, and sips at his martini.

Eggsy glances down at his glass; it's nearly empty, but he doesn't really remember drinking it all. They've been sitting here sipping martinis for what feels like hours, while Harry shares stories of his past missions and Eggsy pretends not to admire the fuck out of him. He has no idea what time it is or even how long he's been here. Long enough to go upstairs and use Harry's bathroom once, long enough to start feeling like he could eat something. Not long enough to want the night to be over with.

"Any reason why not?" he asks. He really hopes it comes out sounding perfectly casual, like he doesn't have a lot riding on the answer to his question.

A lot of what, though, he doesn't really know. He's kind of afraid to look too closely at it.

"The life of a Kingsman agent doesn't particularly lend itself to long-term relationships," Harry says. "It becomes rather difficult to explain the absences, and such things as the unexpected side effects from close range proximity to gunfire."

For some reason Eggsy finds this utterly hilarious, and he laughs. He can just imagine it, though. _Sorry, honey, didn't mean to get blood on my cuffs again. Guess you better try that new laundry detergent._

When he stops laughing, Harry is looking at him with some bemusement, his brown eyes softer than Eggsy has ever seen. Between that and the almost unholy amount of bare skin he's got on display, Eggsy has never wanted him more.

And that's it, isn't it? That's the thing he can't let himself think about. Because it's wrong and it's unprofessional and he's drunk and Harry maybe is, too. Because Harry is twice his age and a hell of a lot more sophisticated. Because there's no way Harry Hart could ever want someone as rough and uncultured as Eggsy Unwin.

But Eggsy still wants him.

How can he not? He's wanted Harry ever since that display in the Black Prince. He's not an idiot. He knows Harry was showing off for him, letting him see what a Kingsman could do, so he would be interested enough to want to join. And he's interested, there's no doubt about that.

But it's not Kingsman that has laid claim to him. It's _Harry._

Harry, who he can't have. Not now, at least. Not when he's drunk and stupid and not yet Lancelot. For now he'll have to stick with his dreams and his imagination. They've got him this far; he can stick it out a little bit longer.

And at least now he knows that Harry was never married, which clears the way ahead.

Harry is still looking at him, maybe trying to figure out what was so funny about the last thing he said. Maybe, possibly, in his wildest dreams, thinking about Eggsy the way Eggsy thinks about him.

It could happen. Sometimes he catches Harry looking at him with a thoughtful, assessing gaze that has nothing to do with his test scores. And earlier tonight when Harry's hands were on his, guiding him through the steps of making a martini just right, it seemed like Harry's touch lingered maybe a little longer than was proper. Like he leaned in a little bit closer than he needed to.

It's stupid. He knows it's stupid. Harry would never. But what the hell is he supposed to think, after everything that's happened tonight?

And just what the fuck kind of tradition is this anyway, spending 24 hours with your mentor before the final test? Is Roxy with Percival right now, all silly drunk and thinking about shagging him? What exactly does Kingsman expect from him right now?

"It's getting late," Harry says, breaking the silence.

Well, that's it, then. The moment (not that there really was one) is gone.

Eggsy shifts on the couch. "Yeah," he says. On the floor at his feet, JB startles awake at his sudden movement and briefly looks up at him before putting his head down on his paws again and going back to sleep.

It occurs to him that he has no idea what to do about any of the practicalities of staying here. _If_ he's even staying here. He's just been assuming that he's going to stay the night. Not that he's got so much as a toothbrush on him. But maybe Harry will send him back home, or to HQ. Maybe Harry is sick of him.

As soon as he thinks this, he knows that this is what's going to happen. Of course it will. No one ever wants him to stay. Why should Harry be any different?

To postpone the now-seemingly inevitable moment of his departure, he raises his glass in what might be a toast, and he says, "You know, I never did get to thank you."

Harry gazes steadily at him. "Thank me for what?"

"For giving me this chance," Eggsy says. It's a little difficult to think straight with four martinis in him, but during the day, when he's sober, he knows perfectly well how amazing it is that he's been given this opportunity. When Harry was in the coma, Eggsy wanted nothing more than to talk to him, to say the words out loud, but since Harry woke up, there just hasn't been a chance for it.

"You can thank me by not fucking it up," Harry says, and he's maybe joking. With him it's hard to tell.

Eggsy grins anyway.

"Roxy is good," Harry says. "Very good. But you can do this, Eggsy." He never once breaks eye contact. "We're not allowed to wager on the candidates, but if we could, my money would be on you."

Still grinning, Eggsy says, "Aww, Harry, you say the sweetest things when you're drunk."

"Do you think so?" Harry gives him a wry smile.

"I do," Eggsy says. "Yeah."

They look at each other, and it's like the temperature in the room instantly goes up ten degrees. Eggsy isn't just feeling warm now, he's fucking _burning_ , lust pooled in his belly, and all he can think is does Harry have the faintest clue how incredibly hot he is right now, sitting there with his sleeves rolled up and a martini glass in one hand.

He wonders what Harry would do if he got up right now and went over to him. If he set his hand on the back of the armchair beside Harry's head and leaned down and kissed him.

He wants to do it. (Oh God he wants to.) He wants to know what Harry tastes like. He wants to feel those lips on his, and the touch of those long fingers on his skin. He feels like he's been slowly drowning ever since he watched Harry take down Rottweiler and his gang without getting one hair out of place, caught helplessly in the undertow that Harry leaves in his wake. Maybe if he grabs onto Harry hard enough, he can find his equilibrium again.

Or maybe not. He might be drunk, but there's just enough rational thought remaining in his brain to know that there's never going to be anything between them. Harry is too much of a gentleman to laugh if Eggsy tried to kiss him, but he would never let it happen, either.

Still. No guts, no glory, as Ryan likes to say.

He sets his glass down and gathers himself to stand up.

And Harry says, "I would ask if you want another, but I don't want you to be hungover for your test tomorrow."

Eggsy freezes. What with the martinis and the temptation of Harry sitting so close, he forgot all about the final test. The thought manages to cut through much of the drunken lust muddling his brain, although he's still nowhere near sober. "So you gonna tell me what it is?" he asks. "The test?"

"Eggsy." Harry gives him a look of disapproval that cuts him to the quick, because _jeez_ , it was just a joke. "You know I'm not allowed to tell you anything."

"Yeah, I know," Eggsy says quickly, eager to show that he didn't mean it. "I was just testing _you._ " There's a part of him, though, that's maybe just the tiniest bit disappointed. He thought maybe their growing closeness would let Harry bend the rules just a little and give him something. Not spill the whole secret of the test, but maybe tell him just enough to give him an edge over Roxy.

But deep down, he's glad Harry didn't tell. Even drunk, he knows he wouldn't ever feel right if he got the job by cheating.

Harry makes a little humming sound and sips at his martini. His throat works as he swallows, and Eggsy's mouth goes dry at the sight.

The test is forgotten again. Nothing he can do about it anyway. Not right now.

Right now is for this moment. Sitting here on Harry's couch in Harry's house, watching Harry drink a martini that Eggsy himself mixed, a drink that Harry had sipped and then smiled as he pronounced it to be just right. The compliment had made Eggsy flush all over with pleasure, and given him a strange, almost flustered desire to earn another bit of praise.

Right now is for the way the light falls on Harry's face, so much softer without the glasses, his hair falling out of its careful styling. Right now is for the heat coursing through Eggsy's veins and pulsing in his cock. Right now is for seizing what might be his only chance, and saying fuck it to the consequences.

He sets his glass down on the couch cushion beside his, and stands up. He walks toward Harry, and he's maybe weaving a little, but he's pretty sure he's starting to sober up, and even if he's not, his gaze is certainly steady enough.

Harry watches him approach, his expression perfectly calm and neutral. Whatever he's thinking, it doesn't show on his face. He could be eagerly waiting for Eggsy to get closer. Or he could be making out his grocery list. Impossible to tell.

Eggsy stops in front of the armchair. Earlier in the evening Harry sat like a proper gentleman, legs crossed and all. Now he's not exactly slouching, but he's sort of spread out, knees wide, an Eggsy-shaped space between his thighs.

It would be rude to ignore an invitation like that, and Eggsy is supposedly here to learn how to be a gentleman. So he steps neatly into that space that's just made for him.

Immediately he feels even warmer, the heat of Harry's legs on either side of his hips, Harry sitting directly in front of him, still gazing calmly at him. Waiting for him to do whatever it is that he's going to do.

Which is something Eggsy himself hasn't quite figured out yet. His heart is hammering in his chest and his jeans are too tight and he knows Harry knows that, even if Harry hasn't once looked away from his eyes. But he's come this far, and he's not the kind of guy to just give up, especially when he hasn't even tried yet.

So he says, "I think I'm gonna kiss you now," and he leans down.

Harry doesn't move. He just says, "No."

Eggsy freezes, bent over a little. "What?"

Harry looks up at him, still perfectly calm – but his eyes have gone dark, giving away the truth. He's nowhere near as composed as he's pretending to be. Still, his voice is as quiet as ever when he says, "It's improper. And you are drunk."

Slowly Eggsy stands up straight. He feels hot all over, this time with a combination of shame and recklessness. "What if I don't care?" he says.

Harry doesn't take the bait. "A gentleman does not take advantage of someone's inebriated state."

Having known that was coming, Eggsy smiles, open and inviting. "What if I _want_ you to take advantage of me?" he smirks. "I'll even ask nicely, say please and all."

"No," Harry says, but he wants to say yes, he does, Eggsy fucking knows it – it's written all over his face. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Oh yes I fucking do," Eggsy retorts.

Harry still doesn't move, but he's breathing faster. There's something in his eyes now, something almost like longing. It's nothing Eggsy has seen from him before, and it fills him with unexpected hope.

Harry does want him. He's certain of it now.

He leans in again, just a little bit. "Tell me you don't want it," he says. Deliberately he looks Harry up and down, letting his gaze linger just a little bit too long on Harry's lap. He doesn't see anything there to encourage his hopes, but then again, Harry's been drinking and he's older. No doubt he's also had a hell of a lot more practice at keeping himself under control.

So yeah, Eggsy isn't daunted one bit.

"It doesn't matter what I want," Harry says. His voice has slipped into a deeper register; the sound sends a thrill down Eggsy's spine and makes his cock harden still further. "We cannot do this."

"We could—" Eggsy starts to say.

"Do not ask me again," Harry warns. He shifts a little bit in the armchair, and though it's not much of a move, his intention could not be clearer if he reached out, planted both hands on Eggsy's chest, and shoved him backward.

"Yeah," Eggsy mumbles. "Okay." He backs up a couple steps. He feels stupid and embarrassed. He's had way too much to drink. He's just completely fucked up everything. "Sorry. I shouldn't've… I'm sorry."

Harry sets his glass down on the small table beside the armchair. He stands up, but leaves a few feet between them, coming no closer toward Eggsy. He takes a deep breath. "Eggsy, we have both been drinking, and it's late. We are neither of us thinking very clearly right now."

Eggsy just stares at him, waiting for the yelling to start. Waiting for that moment when Harry's eyes turn cold and harsh. Waiting to be thrown out.

"And though I don't know how much good it will do now, I will say this to you. I am rejecting your advances for this night, and this night only." For a moment Harry looks uncertain; one shoulder swings forward, like he's about to approach Eggsy. Then he goes still again. "I don't know how much of your behavior tonight is due to the alcohol, but if you still feel the same after you've passed your test, then we will talk."

Unable to believe what he's just heard, Eggsy simply stands there. It can't possibly be true.

Harry really _does_ want him.

And then the rest of it sinks in. The realization that Harry thinks he's only making a drunken pass, that he doesn't really mean it.

It's a startling discovery. He never once thought that maybe Harry's been just as nervous about this as he was. He's been so wrapped up in worrying that Harry wouldn't be interested in his inexperience and chav ways, and meanwhile Harry's been having his own worries. His age, maybe; or the fact that he's Eggsy's mentor.

Maybe Harry thinks he was just taking the piss tonight. Mocking him and his bloody-minded insistence on always being a proper gentleman.

Maybe they've both been fucking idiots, and wasted way too much time.

"Yeah," he says. "I mean it. Every word. And I'll still mean it tomorrow." He lifts his chin. "So I guess I ain't sorry after all."

Harry looks at him for a long moment, and then he almost smiles. "Good," he says. Not in his usual decisive tone, but quietly. Warmly.

They're only standing a couple feet apart. Even though he still feels too warm in his own skin, he can feel the heat emanating from Harry's body. He can see it too, in Harry's eyes.

Fuck it, he decides.

He moves in, and he's nowhere near fast enough, Harry could stop him one-handed if he really wanted to. 

But this time Harry lets him.

The kiss is everything he thought it would be. And it confirms in one single instant what Eggsy already suspected – that when it comes to what he really wants, Harry Hart is no gentleman at all.

Harry's mouth covers his, immediate and demanding. This is no sweet first kiss. This is possession, staking a claim.

It's exactly what Eggsy wants.

Harry tastes like gin. He cups Eggsy's face with one strong hand, tilting Eggsy's chin up. Eggsy opens his mouth to Harry's tongue and clutches at his arms, bunching up that white dress shirt so he can feel the muscle hidden beneath.

Fucking hell, he's not just burning up, he's going to burst into flames any second now. His cock is like iron against the seam of his jeans, and his skin is on fire where Harry is touching him. His head is swimming in a way that's got nothing to do with the martinis. His mouth slides over Harry's, and he moans a little, wanting more.

Harry freezes, then abruptly pulls away.

Eggsy curses his own stupidity, but it's too late, it's done, and he lets go of Harry and then just stands there as Harry steps to one side, putting some space between them once again. The air between them feels supercharged; the hairs on Eggsy's arm want to stand up, and he wonders why Harry even bothers moving away, because he knows perfectly well that Harry can feel it, too.

But it's all about propriety again. The kiss was a fluke, a one-off. He knows it won't be happening again. Not until he's passed all his tests and become Lancelot.

Which could be as early as tomorrow. In twenty-four hours, he might be standing here for real.

The thought makes him smile. Him and Harry together at Kingsman. Together outside of it, too.

"You should go to bed," Harry says. His voice is a bit thick, and his eyes are dilated, the brown nearly swallowed up by black. "It's late."

"Yeah," Eggsy says. "Okay."

"He's your responsibility tomorrow, but for tonight I'll let JB out. Everything you need is in the guest room," Harry says. "Make yourself at home. I'll wake you in the morning. You needn't worry about being late."

"After my test," he says. "Yeah?"

Harry inhales through his nose, his chin lifting imperceptibly. One hand flexes at his side, like he wants to reach out for Eggsy.

Or so Eggsy likes to think.

"Go to bed," Harry says again. "We'll discuss this later, after you become Lancelot."

He already knows that Harry is a man of his word, but he has to make sure. Just in case. "That a promise?"

"Yes," Harry says. "It's a promise."

Satisfied, Eggsy says, "All right." He smiles again, happier than he can remember being in a really long time. "Good night, Harry."

Harry smiles back at him, warm and affectionate. "Good night, Eggsy."

He weaves a little as he climbs the stairs and makes his way to the guest room. Everything he could need is laid out here, and he frowns a little because he has no possible idea when Harry might have done this for him. But there's a toothbrush and a razor and a comb and a set of towels neatly stacked on the edge of the bed, just waiting for him.

And then it hits him. Harry didn't set this stuff out for him tonight. He did it this morning even before he left his house. He did it with complete confidence in Eggsy's abilities, fully expecting Eggsy to succeed on the skydive and pass the test on the train tracks.

Harry, it seems, believes in him more than he does.

Musing about such things, it doesn't take him long to get ready for bed. Soon enough he's curled up beneath the covers, his face buried in the softest, nicest pillowcase he's ever had the pleasure of lying on. He closes his eyes and feels the room spin gently around him. He's exhausted from the long day, the skydive, the terrifying moments when he was bound to the tracks, thinking he was about to be cut in half by a train.

He thinks about how Harry's lips felt, and the warmth of Harry's body pressed against his. His softening cock twitches against his thigh, tormenting him.

It would be a simple matter to slide his hand beneath his borrowed pajamas and finish himself off. It wouldn't even take that long, either. But he can't, though. Not here. Not in Harry's house, wearing Harry's pajamas. He'll be fine. He's tired enough that he can be asleep within minutes, as long as he doesn't dwell on things he shouldn't be thinking about.

It's not until he's almost asleep that he realizes that Harry said "after you pass your test." After. Not if. As though it's already a done deal. That's how strong his faith in Eggsy is.

The thought makes him smile as he snuggles his face deeper into the pillow. And then he's asleep, thinking of nothing at all.

****

He wakes up in the morning to a mouth full of sand, a dull ache in his back and hips, and the smell of bacon cooking.

He opens his eyes and experiences total disorientation. He's wearing strange clothing, lying in a strange bed, in a strange room. This isn't his childhood bedroom, or even the Kingsman barracks he's grown used to.

Then JB barks from behind the closed door, and Eggsy suddenly remembers.

All of it. The skydive and the hard landing, which explains why his joints ache today. The party in the club and the terror of being tied to the train tracks. Charlie's undignified exit from Kingsman. The novelty of seeing the inside of Harry's house with all those pinned bugs and ridiculous _Sun_ headlines. Making martinis and learning how to be a gentleman.

Kissing Harry, and the promise of their future together.

Out in the hall, JB barks again, maybe sensing that Eggsy is up. Or maybe just being a pain in the ass. He's not the world's most well-behaved dog, in spite of all his training.

He knows he should get up, but for a long moment Eggsy just lies there in bed anyway, lazy and all sprawled out. He hasn't had any privacy since that first night he arrived at Kingsman; the barracks that the recruits stay in has absolutely nowhere he can be alone. He savors the silence now, the knowledge that he can do what he wants, that he can relax and just be himself.

But he's got to pee, and he can smell breakfast, and he can't lie here forever. So at last with a small groan, he pushes the covers back and gets out of bed. He's not sure what is expected of him now. Judging from the smells, breakfast is either ready or almost ready. There's probably not enough time to take a shower. He might as well pick yesterday's clothes up off the floor and get dressed.

Then he sees the red dressing gown draped across the footboard of the bed and the slippers resting beneath it. And Eggsy knows, he _knows_ , those things weren't there last night when he went to sleep. He might have been half-drunk still, but he remembers all the items that had been set out for his use, and they were most definitely _not_ there.

Which means at some point while he slept, Harry came in here. Left him the robe and slippers. Maybe stood there watching him sleep.

It's kind of a creepy thought. But it's also strangely comforting. It's good to know Harry really does care, that he's not just going through the motions because Eggsy is his candidate for Lancelot's position. Or worse, because he feels guilty about being responsible for Lee Unwin's death.

And maybe while Harry was standing there, he thought about Eggsy. Maybe he liked what he saw, Eggsy lying in bed. Maybe he's looking forward to tonight just as much as Eggsy is.

Excitement curls in his belly. He's suddenly eager to get the day started. Whatever his final test is, he's ready for it. He's ready to become Lancelot, to become a Kingsman.

He's ready to be with Harry.

He combs his hair with his fingers, trying to tame the worst of his bedhead, then steps into the slippers. He hesitates only a moment before he puts the dressing gown on and belts it about his waist. It's a little too big, too broad in the shoulders, too long in the hem. It smells of Harry and his aftershave, and while he's still behind the closed bedroom door, with no one to bear witness, Eggsy raises his arm and buries his nose in the soft fabric of the sleeve. He inhales deeply, breathing in Harry's scent.

Out in the hall, JB barks again. Feeling a bit stupid, Eggsy drops his arm and squares his shoulders. He opens the door.

He uses the upstairs bathroom, then shuffles downstairs. The slippers are too big as well, and he has to be careful not to walk right out of them. He can't see Harry anywhere, so he just heads for the door. JB runs ahead of him, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth, then stands at the door waiting on him.

"Yeah, yeah," Eggsy mutters. "I'm comin'."

He opens the front door and lets JB out. The pug trots happily onto the little patch of garden in front of Harry's house and lifts a leg. Eggsy stands just inside the door and gazes out at the morning. It's still early, but he can tell it's going to be a pretty day, sunny and warm.

A perfect day to become a Kingsman.

JB comes back inside, and Eggsy shuts the door. He turns around and there's Harry, like he just materialized out of thin air. He's dressed in gray trousers, a perfectly pressed white shirt, and a tie studded with white polka dots. Completing this ensemble is a white apron.

Eggsy just stares. Nobody in the history of ever has made an apron look sexy.

Until now.

"I hope you're hungry," Harry says. He seems unaware of the picture he presents. Which most likely means he knows perfectly well what Eggsy is thinking right now. Because Harry, as Eggsy is finding out, can be a little shit, too.

Eggsy clears his throat. "Yeah," he says.

"Good," Harry says. "Then take a seat."

Eggsy moves toward the dining room table, and then stops. Arrayed on the table is a positively alarming amount of dishes and silverware. This can't possibly all be for breakfast, he thinks as he pulls out the nearest chair and sits down. "What's all this?"

"This," Harry says, "is your next lesson. How to behave at a formal dinner."

"Yeah, but this is just _breakfast,_ " Eggsy protests weakly. He counts three forks including a tiny little thing with only two prongs, three spoons, three glasses, and a coffee cup turned upside-down on a saucer.

"You shall just have to use your imagination," Harry says. "And by the way, how is your head this morning?"

"Okay," Eggsy says. He'd feel better with a shower, but he's surprisingly clear-headed in spite of all those martinis last night. Maybe there really is something to the notion that expensive alcohol doesn't fuck you up so badly.

"Now then," Harry says. He disappears into the kitchen and returns with a plate of kippers. "First course is the fish course. At a dinner this will be shellfish, which is why you have an oyster fork." Eggsy looks in bewilderment at the silverware bracketing his plate. "It's the little one," Harry says.

Eggsy spots it and picks it up. "Looks more like something you could use at Kingsman," he jokes.

"Who says I haven't?" Harry replies. He keeps a straight face, but just by the way he says it, Eggsy understands that not only has Harry used the tiny little fork as a weapon before, but that he's probably killed with it.

He swallows hard and sets the oyster fork down again.

Across the table, Harry meets his eyes. "Relax, Eggsy," he says. He smiles a little. "As you said, it's only breakfast."

Eggsy nods. "Yeah," he says.

Only breakfast.

****

Two hours later they're walking through the streets of London, headed for the shop on Savile Row. Eggsy hasn't been here since that first night, his cheek aflame with pain from where Dean hit him, full of anger and confusion and a sick sense of despair. He had never really entertained the idea of not showing up, even though he hadn't had the faintest idea what Harry could want from him.

One thing he had known for sure, though. Nothing in his life would ever be the same. Even though he hadn't been the one to take out Dean's filthy little gang in the Black Prince, he would be the one to pay the price. Walking aimlessly through the city, he had begun to seriously think about leaving for good. It would mean abandoning his mum and sister to Dean, but in the long run it might be the best thing for them. He certainly couldn't protect them if he was only hiding out from Dean and the others – or worse, laid up in hospital.

And then Harry had made his offer, and Eggsy had known right from the start -– hell, from the very moment he walked through that door -– that he would agree to whatever Harry was going to say. _I never met a tailor before, but I know you ain't one_ , but it hadn't really mattered who Harry was. He was always going to say yes.

He looks over at Harry now, and he can't help smiling. The sun is shining, and Harry's glasses have gone dark, shading his eyes. His umbrella swings forward with every step. He's absolutely beautiful, and Eggsy knows he's got to face it. He's head over fucking heels in love with Harry Hart.

But God, how can he not be? He loves everything about Harry, even his flaws like the too-short temper and the fact that he maybe drinks a little too much and the way he just can't seem to help himself from showing off when he's around Eggsy. He loves the fine suits and the little dimples that appear when Harry smiles. He loves that Harry has so much faith in him that there was a toothbrush waiting in the guest room for him last night. And he loves the way Harry kissed him, and the warmth of Harry's hand on his face.

He's going to become Lancelot today, Eggsy vows. He's going to become a Kingsman.

And then tonight, he and Harry are going to have that talk that they promised each other. And the next time they kiss, they won't stop there.

The next time, it's going to be for real.

****

And then Kentucky happens. And V-Day.

And everything falls apart.


	2. Chapter 2

Eggsy is calm again when he steps back onto the Kingsman plane. He feels almost weak all over, but the tears are done with – for the time being. He's dully grateful for that. Breaking down in front of Princess Tilde was extremely embarrassing. Fortunately for him, she seemed perfectly okay with skipping the "romantic" portion of their reunion, and settled for holding him as he shivered and cried in her arms.

It's just a reaction to the stress and horror of the day, he tells himself. It's not like he's weak or anything.

Merlin looks up at him. "Eggsy."

Eggsy just nods at him. He knows he shouldn't have detoured by Princess Tilde's cell in the first place, except to release her. He doesn't know what he was thinking. It was selfish and stupid and he has no excuses. Roxy is freezing out there in the middle of nowhere, waiting for them to pick her up. He needs to check on his family and make sure they're okay. And then there's the rest of the world, however many thousands of people dead because of Valentine, and a whole bunker full of angry and confused celebrities currently wandering the halls.

He slumps down in the seat with its tartan upholstery and mutters, "Sorry, bruv."

"There's been some news," Merlin says, and for the first time Eggsy registers the fact that Merlin appears to have been crying. 

This is so horrifying that he barely even knows how to respond. He can't imagine what could bring someone like Merlin to tears. Maybe he's found out members of his own family are dead. Maybe Kingsman is in ruin, the other agents dead either through implants behind their ears or because they fell victim to the random violence of V-Day.

Merlin knots his hands together in his lap and looks steadily at him. "Harry is alive," he says.

The breath stills in Eggsy's chest. He sits there unmoving, his brain frozen. He can't speak, can't even think.

"Valentine's shot didn't kill him," Merlin says. "He's hurt, and it's serious, but they're saying eventually he should be fine." He smiles a little, shaky and pale, his eyes brimming.

 _Harry is alive._ He can't. It's too much. He can't process it yet, can't do more than mentally glance at the words. 

So while Eggsy sits and stares, Merlin tells him the story.

Ironically enough, it was the FBI that saved Harry. They were keeping watch on the church, and they had an agent inside. So when everything went to shit, they came running to the rescue. They arrived too late to stop anything, but one of their agents was familiar with Kingsman and recognized Harry's glasses and the cut of his suit. Instead of dismissing him as just another survivor of the massacre, they took him with them. They're kind of pissed off that their own agent was killed, but they did get over themselves long enough to use the glasses to make contact with Merlin and inform him that their man is still alive.

At this, Eggsy finally rediscovers how to use his voice. "When did you find out?"

"Just a few minutes ago," Merlin says. "I was about to call you back to the plane, but I saw you were already on your way."

Eggsy just nods. He wonders briefly if Merlin knows he had a panic attack in front of a Scandinavian princess, then decides that he doesn't care. What does it matter that he cried in the arms of a complete stranger? Stuff like that means absolutely fuck-all in the face of one simple truth.

Harry is alive.

Merlin goes on with his tale. As it turns out, the FBI is the best thing that could have happened to Harry. Being government agents, their phones are government-issue. No free SIM cards for them. When the shit hit the fan during those brief moments when Valentine's hand was on that desk, Harry was completely safe.

"He's in hospital now," Merlin concludes. "There's going to be a surgery, but by the time we get there, it'll all be over with."

Eggsy blinks. "We're going there?" he asks in shock.

"Yes," Merlin says. "We've lost enough agents today. I don't intend to lose another one."

Eggsy swallows and stares and doesn't know what to say next. How many have they lost? And how? And what the hell does Merlin mean by that ominous last statement?

"We're going to be very busy over the next few months," Merlin says. "There's going to be a hell of a lot of cleaning up to do after Valentine's mess. This is probably our only chance to bring Harry home." He pauses, then adds, "You should know that in spite of what you did today, you are not officially a member of Kingsman. In this particular instance, you're strictly a civilian."

"The fuck I am!" Eggsy protests. If Merlin even thinks he's leaving Eggsy behind, he's got another thing coming.

"We'll deal with your status at Kingsman later," Merlin says, and Eggsy shudders.

Because no. Fuck that. He's heard that once before. _You just stay right there. I'll sort this mess out when I get back._ And until five minutes ago he thought Harry was never coming back, never going to sort out anything ever again, because Harry was dead, he was fucking _dead._

Only Harry isn't dead. He's alive. In surgery or something, with no word about his condition or what they can expect when they get to Kentucky. But alive. _Alive._

"Eggsy?" Merlin's voice is quiet. Almost gentle.

"No," he says hoarsely. He looks at Merlin, at the steady eyes that guided him through the weeks of his training. "I'm either in or I'm out," he says. "And I don't really fucking care right now which one it is. But I'm going with you."

Merlin's gaze softens. "Of course you are," he says, and Eggsy relaxes a little. Part of him is still itching for a fight, but he knows that's mostly a holdover from what happened in the bunker.

It's been one hell of a long day.

"Yeah," he says. "All right. Let's go."

"First we have to pick up Lancelot," Merlin says. "And we need to refuel the plane. But then…" He draws in a deep breath. "Then we'll be on our way."

That moment can't come soon enough, as far as Eggsy's concerned. He can barely sit still in his seat anymore, he's so anxious to start the long journey to America.

Merlin disappears into the cockpit, leaving Eggsy alone for the time being. He looks around the plane, seeing none of it. He glances down at his hands and the blood on his cuffs. His face hurts where Gazelle hit him. Dull pain throbs in his back and ribs from being thrown around, and the multiple bullet impacts on the pinstriped suit.

The suit saved his life, though. The suit that Harry had made for him.

And it suddenly hits him. Harry is alive. He doesn't have to grieve anymore. Harry is alive. Eggsy hasn't lost him.

Harry is alive and Eggsy still gets to be in love with him.

The tears catch him off guard. He hears himself make a sound, sort of a laugh and a sob all at once, and his surroundings go all blurry because he's crying so hard.

But it's okay.

It's okay because Harry is alive.

****

The first time he sees Harry again, it's in an American hospital filled with doctors and nurses who look like they're all one step short of collapsing with exhaustion. Harry lies in the ICU, a bandage over the surgical incision on his forehead, sedated and surrounded by some seriously scary medical machinery. Eggsy stands just inside the doorway and feels his face doing this awful thing where everything just seems to fold on itself and his eyes burn with tears.

It could have been so much worse, he reminds himself. Harry is in fact extremely lucky. Whether because Valentine was a poor shot, or through some defect in the weapon used, the bullet meant to kill him only fractured his skull, and then was deflected. The surgeon was still relatively fresh when she lifted the bone fragments from where they had become sunken in, and put them back in place. Time will tell, but for now she is optimistic that there will be no brain damage.

In fact, so far as they can see, there's no reason Harry won't be completely recovered in time.

Eggsy lingers in the doorway for a long time, psyching himself up to go inside. It's hard to do. Harry looks like shit, too pale and stubbled, an area of his head shaved from the surgery. Little cuts and bruises mark his face, neck and hands; the cuts are scabbed over by now, the bruises darkening into unlovely shades of blue and purple. But he's still beautiful to Eggsy's eyes, because he's alive.

Beautiful or not, he hates seeing Harry like this – again – and feeling so helpless. He knows Merlin is dealing with doctors and administrative staff and the occasional agent of the FBI, arranging for Harry's release. He knows Roxy is around somewhere, giving him this chance to be alone with Harry in case he does something pathetic like he's doing right now.

He wipes at his eyes and forces himself to go in.

If this were a movie, maybe the kind Valentine had liked, Harry would wake up now. He would slowly turn his head and blink a couple times, then look at Eggsy. There would be a long moment when there was a question of whether or not he recognized Eggsy. Then Eggsy would say something stupid like "Hi," and Harry would slowly smile at him. And all would be right with the world.

But this ain't a movie. This is real life. And so Eggsy takes a seat in the only chair in the room. And in the bed, Harry sleeps on.

Reluctant to wake him up when he so obviously needs rest, Eggsy doesn't say anything. He just slumps in the rather uncomfortable chair set by the right side of the bed, unmoving. This isn't like when Harry was in the coma and Roxy had suggested talking to him anyway, because studies had shown coma patients could sometimes hear what was said to them. Not that Eggsy had really been given many chances to visit Harry during those weeks of his training. But the idea had always been there in the back of his mind.

This is different, though.

Some people would call it a miracle. Eggsy isn't one of them. Still, he knows how fortunate they are. Harry should have died outside that church. There's no question about it. Instead he's been spared. And Eggsy can't help wondering why.

He'd like to think it's because life, which shits on you more often than not, decided to take pity on them for once. Because they had just barely found each other before all this happened. Because they deserve this chance to be happy together. Hell, just to _be_ together.

He knows better than that, though.

But whatever the reasons are, whatever the infinitesimal odds Harry beat in that church, he'll take them. Without hesitation.

And when Harry is better, when it's time to go home again, Eggsy will go with him. Harry will need someone to help him those first couple weeks. Not like a nursemaid, although Eggsy would fill that role if necessary, but more as a concerned friend. Someone to watch over him, to make sure he's recovering properly and not overdoing things.

It'll mean staying at the house. More nights in that comfortable guest room, Harry sleeping down the hall. More mornings with breakfast served at that stupidly posh dining room table. More evenings sitting together in the living room, sharing stories and making each other smile.

And when Harry is better, Eggsy simply won't ever leave. He'll belong there by then, in that house in Stanhope Mews. They'll be together in all the ways that matter. They can pick up where they left off, before Eggsy failed both his final test and Harry alike. He'll be a Kingsman in his own right. There won't be anything to keep them apart then; no scruples, no morals, no rules.

It's a pleasant fantasy, and Eggsy indulges himself for a while, even though a part of him squirms in shame at such thoughts. He's not a kid anymore. He knows all too well how reality works. He's a fucking idiot to let himself daydream about such things.

Still, he can't help it. He's had his fill of reality. He wants the fucking daydream, thank you very much. Thinking about that stuff is better than sitting here worrying about what's going to happen if Harry never wakes up, or worse, if he wakes up and has brain damage. If he can't be Galahad anymore. If he isn't _Harry_ anymore.

He sighs.

For a long while further, nothing happens. Eggsy slouches in his chair, pokes tentatively at the bruising on his jaw, and hates himself for feeling bored. Lacking anything else to do, he watches the machines monitoring Harry's vitals. They are silent, but there's something almost hypnotic about the EKG readout and the number that barely fluctuates. It could put him to sleep if he let it.

As he's watching the numbers, they start to change in higher increments. The pulse display quickens. Abruptly Eggsy realizes what this means, and he looks up in time to see Harry open his eyes.

He holds his breath, waiting to see what happens. It takes a little while for Harry to be able to keep his eyes open and focus them. He doesn't seem to be in any pain or distress, and he doesn't move at all, except for his right hand, which curls into a loose fist.

Eggsy watches this, then looks back up again, only to discover that Harry is looking right at him.

He sits up, suddenly called to attention. "Hey," he says softly, and he smiles a little. Cautious. Hopeful.

Harry stares back at him, obviously exhausted but recognizing him. His lips part, but no sound emerges.

"It's okay," Eggsy says. He scoots forward on his chair and rests his hand over Harry's. "You're gonna be okay."

Harry's gaze moves to their hands. His knuckles are bruised, and there is a long cut just before the slender bones of his wrist. Such minor injuries hardly mean a thing, though. Not compared to the gunshot that nearly claimed his life. Even the knife wound in his back and the broken ribs fade into insignificance beside that bullet.

Thinking about those things makes Eggsy feel a fierce desire to protect Harry and keep him safe. Whatever it takes, whatever he has to do. Just as long as he doesn't end up here for a third time, reduced to watching over Harry lying in a hospital bed.

But Harry's going to be okay, he reminds himself. That's what everyone is saying. That's all that matters.

As he watches, Harry's eyes flutter closed, and he struggles to open them again. He's clearly having trouble staying awake.

"Go back to sleep," Eggsy encourages. It's like talking to Daisy when she wakes up early from her nap. He uses the same gentle voice, the same warm persuasion. "Get some rest."

Against his will, it seems, Harry's eyelids droop, then close altogether. His hand moves slightly beneath Eggsy's, his little finger coming to rest atop Eggsy's fingertips.

Eggsy stares down at their hands and his heart does a funny twisting motion in his chest. It hurts. A lot.

He doesn't say anything, though. Harry is already asleep, and Eggsy wouldn't dream of waking him. He sits quietly in the chair, not doing anything to break that incredibly fragile hold Harry has on his fingers.

He's never letting go again.

****

Later that morning –- or maybe it's afternoon, Eggsy's sense of time is completely fucked up -– Harry wakes up and this time stays awake.

Eggsy is in the hospital cafeteria when it happens, naturally. The food is just okay, but it's hot and it's free; the hospital is stuffed to bursting and no one has the heart to charge anyone for food. In that sense, Valentine failed spectacularly – in one fell swoop, he's managed to bring what's left of the human race closer together.

He's almost done eating when Roxy hurries up to him. There's a flush on her cheeks. "There you are," she says. "Hurry. He's awake."

Instantly Eggsy's appetite curdles. The food he's just eaten sits in his stomach like a rock. For an awful moment he wants to vomit. Then he gets himself under control, and he follows her out of the cafeteria.

"How's he doing?" he asks, even though he's afraid of the answer.

"Good," Roxy says, and thank God for it, too. There's no coy bullshit from her, no telling him to wait and see for himself.

This time around Eggsy is more prepared. He's got his first line all planned out and everything. He watches Roxy wander off down the hall, giving him privacy, then he plasters a smile on his face and walks through the door. "Hey, Harry."

Harry looks at him. They've raised the head of the bed a little so he's not lying flat anymore. He still looks awful, more in need of a shave, the bruises on his face a little darker than before. But he is alert and his eyes are clear. "Eggsy."

Tears want to burn his eyes, but Eggsy forces them back. As casually as he can manage, he strolls into the room. "I know you told me to stay put, but it was gettin' kinda boring without you. So here I am."

Harry looks at him blankly. "What?"

And that's how they discover that Harry doesn't remember.

****

In a lot of ways it's a good thing. 

Or so Eggsy tells himself.

Harry doesn't remember what happened in the church. He doesn't remember the horrible things he and Eggsy said to each other before he left for Kentucky. He doesn't remember Eggsy failing the dog test. His last clear memory is of cutting the ropes that tied Eggsy to the train tracks beneath Kingsman HQ. When pressed on anything he might recall after that, he says hesitantly, "Merlin…?"

"There's no points for guessing," says the doctor, and Harry gives him a look that could level tall buildings.

It happens with traumatic head injuries, the doctor says. Sometimes those missing memories come back. Most times they don't. 

So that's it, then. The line in Harry's memory stops at the railroad tracks. And Eggsy tells himself over and over that he's grateful, he really is. He speaks to Merlin and asks –- fuck that, he actually _begs_ -– Merlin to destroy the video feed from Harry's glasses on the day of the church massacre. "Please don't let him see it, please."

They're standing in the hallway then, far enough away from Harry's room that there's no danger of him accidentally overhearing them. Merlin looks rough, unshaven and exhausted, lines scored deep on his forehead. But he gives off the aura of being firmly in control, the way he always has.

And Merlin replies calmly enough. "It's all right, Eggsy. Sometimes things happen. Footage gets accidentally erased. It's unfortunate, but we just have to move on."

Eggsy slumps against the wall at his back and breathes, "Thank you."

So all that is good.

What sucks, though, what's bad, is that the dividing line in Harry's memory means that Harry also doesn't remember that last night they spent together. He doesn't remember teaching Eggsy how to mix martinis. He doesn't remember breakfast the next morning and guiding Eggsy through the steps of an etiquette lesson on fine dining, or the bright sunshine of their walk to the shop.

He doesn't remember their kiss, and his promise.

But Eggsy does.

****

Later he stands off to one side, all but forgotten while the doctor asks Harry all kinds of questions designed to test the extent of his memory loss. With growing impatience Harry identifies the year, the current American President -– before the guy had his head blown up, that is -– and a bunch of personal information Merlin supplied the doctor with beforehand, like his birthday and the name of his first dog.

When they get to that last day, though, his answers become less confident. He doesn't exactly get flustered, but he's obviously made uncomfortable by the gap in his memory. At last he refuses to even try to answer any more questions, saying irritably, "You've made your point. We're done here."

Eggsy loiters by the wall, saying nothing. He does his best to keep a straight face, to hide what he's thinking. Every now and then during the exam Harry glanced at him, but it was always a brief thing, a mere second of eye contact before looking away again. Never long enough for him to figure out what Harry was thinking.

As the doctor gives instructions to Harry and Merlin, Eggsy stands there and thinks about that last night – which is in fact the _only_ night they had. He thinks about how happy they were. Yes, Harry, too. Even if Harry hadn't been giddy or playful like Eggsy, he had been happy all the same. Eggsy is certain of it. Harry had been proud of Eggsy and how far he'd come in the training. He had been utterly convinced that Eggsy would be the next Lancelot.

And he had wanted to kiss Eggsy. Had wanted more, even, although he hadn't allowed himself to do anything about it. It's all there with the benefit of hindsight, so easy to see. The way Harry had looked at him, the way he had stood too close during the martini lessons, the way his hands had lingered just a little bit too long on Eggsy's as they poured the alcohol.

But now that's all gone. Now Harry, if he even thinks about Eggsy in that way at all, won't do anything about it. Because he doesn't remember that he's allowed to.

And it _sucks_ to know that they could have had something. That if things had gone differently, he and Harry would be together in that white house at the end of the lane. Maybe they would be kissing right now. Maybe even more than that.

It's still possible, he knows that. But it's not going to happen any time soon. He's got to start over again. Not just back to square one, but beyond, because everything is different now. They're still learning the consequences of Harry's injury. There's no telling what they might find out in the next couple days.

And though Eggsy will be the first one to say he's no gentleman, he knows good and well that he won't say anything to Harry about what happened. The kiss they shared, and the promise that was broken, will have to stay his secret.

If they're going to do this, he can't interfere. He's going to have to stand back and let it all happen naturally, like he doesn't remember every single second of every single day what he's lost. He's going to have to hold onto his secrets.

No matter how much it might hurt.

****

An hour later he's standing in the gift shop in the lobby, staring with a mixture of disgust and amazement at the items for sale. Only in America would there be a gift shop inside a hospital. He can see the appeal, though. It's perfect for those people who forgot to bring something for the person they're visiting. Giant stuffed animals of all sizes, colorful coffee mugs, vases for flowers, it's all here.

"Eggsy?" He blinks and looks up, and there is Roxy. "You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah, sure," Eggsy says. "Good. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you've been staring at the same teddy bear for ten minutes," Roxy says quietly.

He wants to say that if she knows that, _she's_ been staring at _him_ for the last ten minutes, which doesn't make her any better, but even the thought of trying to put all that into words is exhausting, so he just gives up.

"Want to take a walk?" Roxy says.

"Sure," Eggsy says. "Okay." He knows he doesn't sound enthusiastic, but who cares? He's going anyway, isn't he?

They walk through the lobby and out into the day. It's late afternoon and just starting to get dark; it stays light out longer here than it does back home. It's chilly enough that Eggsy wishes he had a coat.

Maybe they sell those in the gift shop, too.

He follows Roxy through the enormous car park. An ambulance pulls up to the emergency entrance, and a brief swell of chaos ensues as the doors are opened and someone on a stretcher is rushed inside. Then everything goes quiet again.

"All right," Roxy finally says. "Out with it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Eggsy says automatically. Which is a stupid fucking thing to say when he's so obviously not doing well, but it's too late. It's out there.

"Eggsy." She looks at him with a blend of worry and exasperation. Like she's really concerned about him. She probably is, too. Roxy is aces, she is.

"I know you're worried about Harry," she says. "But is there something else? Is it what happened with Valentine?" She hesitates, then adds with only the faintest of stammers, "You know you can tell me. If you want."

He forgets sometimes that she's not the greatest at this kind of thing, either.

But what the hell is he supposed to tell her? She still thinks he only considers Harry a mentor and a friend. She doesn't have the faintest idea that he's in love with Harry. 

"Eggsy?"

His throat closes up. He can't do this. He can't talk about it. Not even with Roxy. He's been up and down again so many times in the last – two days? three? he doesn't even know anymore – and he just can't do it again.

He was so happy that last night in Harry's house. Except now his happy ending has turned to shit and Eggsy really, truly, can't fucking handle it if even one more thing goes wrong.

"Eggsy?" Roxy lays her hand on his arm, and Eggsy just loses it.

"All right!" he yells as he twists away from her. "Just back off, yeah? Back the fuck off!"

Roxy stares at him, wide-eyed with shock. Eggsy looks at her, the ghost of Dean echoing in his ears, and wants to crawl beneath the earth and hide there forever in the dirt where he belongs. He's a complete arsehole, a total shit, an absolute waste of a human being.

"Sorry," he mumbles, and drops his gaze.

"No, I'm sorry," Roxy says quickly. "I shouldn't have pushed. I didn't realize. I'm sorry."

He can't deal with her apologies. Not when he's the one who fucked up. He squeezes his eyes closed and says, "Shut up, Rox. Just, please. Shut up."

And she does.

The silence lengthens between them while Eggsy tries to find a way to get a hold of himself. Roxy doesn't deserve him being a dickhead to her. She's put up with his shit ever since they picked her up in the middle of the mountains, still in the halo suit and worried sick about what was happening to the rest of the world after V-Day. Hell, she gets points simply for not knocking him on his arse for the way he just talked to her. After all, it's not her fault he can't have what he wants.

He opens his eyes. "Sorry," he says in a normal tone of voice. It's tough, but he manages. It's not any harder than all those times he smiled brightly for Daisy, or pretended not to hate Dean. "Been a long day."

Roxy gives him a sympathetic smile. That's why he loves her; she rarely takes offense at anything he says or does, and she knows when to give him space. He tries to do the same for her, although he still fumbles at it more often than not. Sometimes she's hard to suss out. "It's been a long _week,_ " she says.

"That too," Eggsy says, and at last he feels like the danger is past. He can talk about it now. He's okay.

They walk along for a little bit more, past the parked cars and a few people headed for the hospital. Most of them look bowed down with guilt and sadness. He guesses a lot of them are here to visit people they hurt on V-Day.

Eggsy shoves his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket and says, "It wasn't supposed to be like this. Me and Harry, we was supposed to be doing this together."

"You still can," Roxy says, trying to be encouraging. "The doctors say—"

"You don't understand," Eggsy says. He can't look at her. "I mean, we was supposed to be _together._ We had talked about it. We was just waitin' on me being Lancelot."

He glances over and sees her eyes widen as she gets what he's really saying. She looks very serious and very sympathetic. "Oh, Eggsy."

He doesn't want her sympathy. Too much of it and he'll wind up doing something awful like crying again. "You don't exactly seem surprised."

"Well," Roxy says carefully, "that's 'cause I'm not."

So much for thinking his deepest feelings were a secret. Eggsy groans. "Oh great. How did you know?"

"I don't know," Roxy says. "I just did. I guess… I think it was the way you talk about him."

Eggsy stares at her. She can't just say something like that and then not explain it. "Yeah? And?"

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "It's like you just… I don't know. You light up, or something."

Eggsy blinks. He feels stupidly pleased. Because yeah, she's probably right. Something happens to him when he thinks about Harry, or talks about him. He _does_ feel lighter inside. Happier.

He supposes that's what being in love feels like.

Then he remembers why they're talking about this in the first place, and his momentary good mood vanishes. "Don't matter," he says. "He don't remember what we talked about. I don't even know if he still feels the same way."

"Well, why wouldn't he?" Roxy says, and he knows she's just trying to be supportive, but the words still hurt like hell.

"I dunno," he shrugs, "but I'm pretty sure he won't."

"But why would that change?" Roxy asks. She sounds bewildered. "Why would his feelings for you now be any different?"

"Dunno," Eggsy says again. He's got nothing to base his theory on, but he knows he's right. Everything is changed now.

"You should talk to him," Roxy suggests.

"Can't," Eggsy says, and thinks about their kiss.

She doesn't ask why not. He's grateful to her for that. They are silent as they walk past another row of parked cars. They're headed back for the hospital now through unspoken consent. Roxy glances over at him, still worried.

"It's okay," Eggsy says. He tries to sound cheerful. "It's a miracle, innit? That's what's everyone keeps saying. We're just lucky he's alive. It's gonna be okay." He gives her a smile. "You'll see."

"I'm sure it will," Roxy says instantly; she always has his back.

"Yeah," Eggsy sighs. Then he says, "Listen, Rox, I'm sorry I yelled at you. That wasn't on."

"It's okay," Roxy says and the great thing about her is that she means it. "With everything that's happening, I thought we would row long before now."

"Well, you can yell back at me if you want," Eggsy offers. "I kinda deserve it anyway."

"Yeah, you kinda do," Roxy says, but she's smiling. "Don't worry. I'll save it up and use it when you least expect it." She grins.

"Cheers," Eggsy says, because he really does love her. When they came out here he wouldn't have thought he could feel better, but somehow she's managed it.

"Oh," Roxy says. "Look. Merlin."

Eggsy glances up and sees what she's talking about. Merlin is standing just outside the doors leading inside, watching them approach.

It's too late to pretend they didn't see him, and anyway, Eggsy wouldn't do that. He actually quickens his step, as does Roxy.

Merlin doesn't greet them or ask what they were doing. He just says, "We're leaving."

Roxy's chin comes up. She nods.

Eggsy flounders for a moment. "What, now?"

"Commercial flights remain grounded, but we've been granted permission to leave," Merlin says. His expression softens a tiny bit when he sees Eggsy's reaction. "We can't stay here," he says. "We have work to do. All of us."

Then Merlin says to him, "Harry is expecting you," and Eggsy's heart jolts in his chest.

"He's not coming?" he demands. "I thought we were bringing him home."

"We can't," Merlin says. "Not yet. He needs to heal from that surgery first. The change in air pressure on a plane would set back his recovery." He looks displeased by this; Eggsy doesn't really know Merlin all that well, but one thing he does know is that the man doesn't often lose an argument. "We'll bring him home just as soon as we can, Eggsy. I promise."

There's no sense in arguing about it. Eggsy loves Harry more than he ever thought it was possible to love someone, but he will follow Merlin to the ends of the Earth. And not just because Merlin saved his life about eighty times in Valentine's bunker. Because Merlin believed in him, too, providing him subtle encouragement during the training when he needed it most. And because when he went to HQ with his news about Arthur being a traitor, Merlin believed him. Merlin didn't say that he and Lancelot would handle things, but included Eggsy right from the very beginning, and made him integral to the plan to stop Valentine.

So he just nods and says, "I'll be right back."

He crosses the lobby and pushes the elevator call button. After the quiz designed to test Harry's memory, Merlin stayed behind so he could fill Harry in on what happened during those hours he's missing. By now Harry knows that Eggsy failed his test. He knows that Eggsy stole Arthur's car, that he and Eggsy had an argument before he left for Kentucky. He knows about the church, although hopefully only in the most clinical terms. And he knows about V-Day, and what Eggsy did in that mountain bunker.

And now Eggsy gets to experience his anger and disappointment all over again.

His steps drag as he walks through the halls to the ICU and Harry's room. He has no desire to have another version of this conversation. It'll be different this time because he won't say those awful things about his father, and Harry won't leave him halfway through, but that doesn't mean it won't suck just as hard.

Just outside the door he pauses. A part of him hopes that Harry will be asleep, that he can maybe take the coward's way out and just leave a note saying good-bye.

But Harry is awake, sitting up, even. He looks tired and worn down, but he smiles when he sees Eggsy standing there. "Eggsy."

"Hey," Eggsy says, and goes inside. 

"You look good," Harry says.

Eggsy nods, acting like he believes the lie. On the plane ride over here he changed out of the bloodstained suit, and he's back in his chav clothes. They're the same ones he was wearing when he saw Harry die, the ones he was wearing when he killed Arthur. By now his underwear is beyond rank, and his hair is getting that greasy sheen that means he hasn't washed it in a few days. He badly needs to shave and his face is a couple shades of black and blue, his lip still swollen and scabbed over. All in all he's a total fucking mess – and that's just the outside, the things people can see. 

"How are you feeling?" he asks, because he doesn't want Harry to focus on him. In fact, that's pretty much the last thing he wants.

"I've been better," Harry says. "But I've been worse, too."

"I bet," Eggsy says, and thinks about the stories Harry told him that night they sat there drinking martinis. Stories Harry doesn't remember telling him, drinks Harry doesn't remember drinking.

"Merlin told me what happened with Valentine," Harry says. He gets a look on his face, one Eggsy is very familiar with. "I'm very proud of you," Harry says warmly, his eyes soft with affection.

Harry has never outright lied to him before, and Eggsy badly wants to believe that this is true, but he can't. He has to keep his distance, both physically and emotionally. It's the only way he's going to get through this.

"Thanks," he mutters. Then, to divert the attention off himself, he says, "Kingsman's kind of a mess now, though." They lost four agents on V-Day, two to Valentine's implants and two to random violence.

"Yes," Harry sighs. "But we will rebuild. And you will be a part of it, Eggsy, I promise you that."

He just nods. Given the choice between life with Kingsman and life with Harry, he would choose Harry every time. But he can't say that.

Silence falls between them. Eggsy glances up, sees Harry gazing steadily at him, and quickly looks away.

Fuck, he can't do this. He was an idiot to think he ever could. He loves Harry too much. He's never gonna survive if he has to keep this up for long.

For a wild moment he considers throwing himself on Harry, anyway. Fuck the consequences. Just walk right forward and snog the daylights out of him, no matter what anyone else might say. Throw his arms around Harry's neck and close his eyes and hold on tight.

Tell him all the things he wants to say.

But he can't. It wouldn't be fair. Harry doesn't know that it's okay for them to kiss. Harry doesn't know that it's okay for him to act on his feelings for Eggsy – assuming he even still has those feelings. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he only started wanting Eggsy that night with the martinis. Maybe the Harry currently looking up at him only thinks of him as a friend.

"I gotta go, yeah?" He cocks a thumb over his shoulder, toward the doorway.

"Yes," Harry says. There might be a faintly wistful note in his voice. 

Then again, there might not be.

Eggsy takes a deep breath and tries to remember what he would do if he really _was_ just Harry's friend, and not head over heels in love with him. "You do what the doctors say, okay? Kingsman needs you."

 _I need you,_ he thinks miserably.

"I will," Harry says. "I have no intention of remaining here any longer than is necessary."

"Good," Eggsy says. He wonders if he should say anything else, then decides the best thing to do is just get the hell out of here before he says something he's going to regret.

"I guess I'll see you around," he says. He smiles a little, but it's forced and it hurts his bruised jaw, and he stops almost right away.

"I very much hope so," Harry says.

It's an invitation of sorts, but Eggsy can't accept. He just nods stiffly and says, "Right." And then he turns around and walks out.

****

Long after they've left, Harry sits in bed and stares at the blank TV screen he refuses to turn on. Soon enough he'll have to learn what happened on V-Day, but he has no desire to hasten that moment.

He hurts all over, hardly an inch of him not aching in some way, but he bears the pain in silence. He didn't take the last round of pills the nurse gave him. It's easy enough to pretend to swallow them; the staff here is so overworked that just going through the motions is enough to appease them. He's been reassured that the drugs won't affect his ability to think, but he's not taking any chances. He's never again submitting to something that will affect his mind.

He glances at the watch strapped to his wrist and does the math, calculating where the Kingsman plane should be right now on the journey back to England. It's not actually his watch, but the one Roxy Morton was wearing when she arrived. She was gracious enough to loan it to him, and they had shared a smile over the fact that it fits his wrist easily enough despite the smaller size.

He makes a mental note now to thank Roxy when he gets back. Or rather, Lancelot, as he should call her now.

The thought galls, although not as much as it could have. Roxy is a worthy successor to James, and she has certainly earned the position. She'll make a fine Lancelot.

But Eggsy.

Harry sighs.

Something is up with Eggsy. He just doesn't know what. He suspects it has something to do with that gap in his memory. He's been told that Eggsy was deeply upset by his apparent death outside the church, but to look at him, Eggsy doesn't seem to really care at all. It's possible that he's just still in shock after everything that's happened in the past few days, and Harry wouldn't be surprised if this were the case – but still. 

Something is off. And he can't put his finger on it. The Eggsy he knew was warm and friendly, eager to share his company. But this new Eggsy is quiet and withdrawn, volunteering little and rarely making eye contact.

Maybe it's the fact that he failed his test and worries about whether he will be part of Kingsman. Maybe it's the shock of thinking Harry was dead. Maybe it's the horror of what happened in Valentine's bunker.

Or maybe it's something else, something he doesn't know.

There's nothing he can do about it, though. He has one job right now, and that is to recover from his injuries as quickly as possible so he can go home and get back to work. His position in Kingsman is assured, and he isn't concerned about losing his status to anyone, but the job was never about status, anyway. Not for Harry.

It's about keeping the world spinning, protecting the people who don't even know he exists, doing the right thing. He's not going to help anyone lying here flat on his back, the shattered bones of his skull slowly mending.

He has to heal first. Then he can go home.

And then he can sit down and have a talk with Eggsy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last paragraph of Harry's e-mail comes from the Kingsman comic, and a letter his character writes to Eggsy. I've changed some of the wording a little bit to better fit this story, but otherwise it's just as it is in the comic. How's that for painful?

Back in London, Eggsy is greeted with sobering reminders of V-Day. Schools and many businesses remain closed, hasty constructs of plywood covering shattered windows. The streets are empty and silent.

He goes home, but nobody is there. He stands in the kitchen for a few moments, staring blankly at nothing in particular. It smells of yesterday's roast and vegetables in here, and the sour stink of Daisy's nappies. They're out at the supermarket, maybe. Or visiting friends. They could be back at any moment.

After a while Eggsy goes into his room. He packs up some clothing, his toothbrush, all the things he didn't have a chance to bring with him when he began his training at Kingsman. He thinks about leaving a note for his mum, then decides against it. He leaves again with no one ever knowing he was there at all.

At Kingsman HQ, the mood is somber. There are now four seats open on the Round Table. Five if you include Arthur. Six counting Harry.

"Stay close," Merlin says. The dark circles under his eyes are starting to look like bruises. "I need you to be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

"My mum…" Eggsy says, and then can't finish.

"Of course," Merlin says. "You're free to visit, but don't tell her anything." He gazes steadily at Eggsy. "She can't know the truth."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, because what exactly would he say to her anyway? _Hey Mum, you'll never believe this, but some lady with knives for feet tried to kill me, and then I killed Richmond Valentine, but first I let him almost destroy the world._

Yeah, that would go over like gangbusters.

He shuffles off to the private rooms, where Kingsman agents from other branches stay when they're visiting. Technically Eggsy doesn't have a room of his own, but Merlin tells him to just pick any one he wants, and he's free to stay as long as he needs. "More permanent arrangements are being made," Merlin says. "This is just for a couple days."

Eggsy doesn't ask what those arrangements are. He just picks an empty suite and moves in. It doesn't take long to unpack his few belongings. He wonders where Roxy is. He wonders who the new Arthur will be. He wonders if he should even be here, since he isn't actually a Kingsman.

The suite is more like a hotel room, containing everything a guest could want, including a laptop. Bored and needing something to do so he doesn't fall asleep, Eggsy sits at the desk provided and opens the laptop. He thinks about reading some of the news stories about V-Day, but the first one turns his stomach when he sees the horrific number of casualties, and he quickly exits out of that page.

He checks his e-mail next. There's the usual round of spam, three e-mails from Jamal wanting to know where he is and if he's okay, and one from Ryan.

And one from Harry.

For a moment his heart leaps into his throat. Harry must have sent it after Eggsy left him this morning. What could possibly be so important that it required an e-mail sent so soon?

What if he's remembered?

Then he sees the date and time of the message, and he goes cold all over. This wasn't sent today. This was sent several days ago. In fact, based on the time, Harry wrote it while he was on the Kingsman plane, on his way to South Glade Mission Church.

The subject of the e-mail is "Eggsy." For a moment he thinks about deleting it. Pretending it never existed. But he can't do it. He has to know.

He double-clicks on the e-mail.

_Dear Eggsy,_

_I wanted to apologize to you for losing my temper this morning. I said things I now regret. I think we both did._

_I never once considered that you wouldn't make it all the way and become the next Lancelot. You are a true Kingsman, and if you still want it, you have a future here. When I get back, I will speak to Arthur. Accommodations can be made. For instance, did you know there hasn't been an active Tristan in over 50 years? It may be time to change that. The point, Eggsy, is that you shouldn't worry. This will be taken care of, I promise you._

_Regarding the other promise I made you, I have not forgotten. Whether or not you are Lancelot is now irrelevant. I know how I feel about you, and if you still feel the same way about me, then I think it's safe to say we'll be all right. We will talk about it tonight when I get back. I'm looking forward to it._

_I wanted to thank you, as well. I have enjoyed our time spent together more than you probably realize. I taught you all about bespoke suits and oyster forks and signet rings, but you’ve taught me what was missing from my life. I love my job and it brings me enormous satisfaction, but at the same time I’ve been very lonely over the years. Thank you for bringing some warmth into my life._

_Yours,  
Harry_

****

First thing in the morning, Eggsy is summoned to a meeting at the Savile Row shop. He gets dressed quickly, although it takes him three tries to get the knot in his tie just right.

He doesn't so much as glance at the laptop.

He shares the shuttle with Roxy and Percival. They mutter good-mornings to each other and then are silent. Beneath a rainbow of bruises, Percival is very pale, and one arm is in a sling. Eggsy wonders where he was on V-Day and how many people he killed.

The three of them are the only ones to show up in person, except for Merlin, of course, who sits at the head of the table dressed in a sharp suit. He's clean-shaven and he looks like he's got some sleep, which is good to see. His hands are clasped atop the shiny surface of the table where Chester King breathed his last.

Merlin nods a greeting to them all, then gestures Eggsy toward a seat on his left. Eggsy sits down somewhat gingerly, not sure what to expect. He catches Roxy's eye, but she shakes her head almost imperceptibly, just as baffled as he is.

On the table in front of him is a glass containing a small portion of brandy.

"Glasses, please," Merlin says.

Eggsy puts them on and is surprised when he sees a holographic figure sitting at the table across from Roxy. It takes him a moment to recognize Bors, the only other agent besides Percival who survived V-Day. Bors is older, around Merlin's age, and right now he looks like he should be in hospital, so bruised and battered it hurts to look at him. Quite possibly he _is_ in hospital right now, Eggsy thinks, his glasses transmitting from wherever he is.

"Thank you for coming," Merlin says. He doesn't seem to see the empty seats around the table – which is exactly half of them. "I'll keep this brief.

"As you know, we have lost Kay, Dagonet, Pellinore, and Gareth. Recruiting for their positions will have to be put on hold temporarily. The world has gone to shit, and it's now our job to stabilize it."

Merlin looks at each of them. "By a joint vote of the American, European and Indian branches, effective immediately, I am now Arthur."

Eggsy grins at Merlin. Er, Arthur. He suspects he's always going to think of the man as Merlin, no matter what title he holds.

"Official business is as follows: the position of Galahad will be retained by Harry Hart, who is currently recovering in hospital in America. I anticipate his return within a couple weeks, at which time he will be evaluated for field duty."

That wipes the smile off Eggsy's face. He's torn between feeling gratitude toward Merlin for not giving away Harry's title, and worry at the thought of having to face Harry again.

"Effective immediately, I hereby promote Eggsy Unwin to the position of Gawain." He gives Eggsy a small smile. "Welcome to Kingsman."

He had thought it might be this, because why else would he have been invited here. He had _hoped_ , because it's everything he's worked so hard for. But to hear it actually said out loud makes Eggsy's throat close up and his heart beat funny in his chest.

He did it. He's a Kingsman.

"A toast," Merlin says. "For our fallen. For Gawain. For Kingsman."

They all raise their glasses, even Bors on his feed, although his "glass" is nothing but a paper cup. Eggsy watches his hand reach out and close about his glass and lift it, and it's like watching someone else do it, someone not himself.

"For our fallen," echo Roxy and Percival and Bors.

Eggsy makes himself join in, though he can't seem to speak very well; the words fall heavily onto the polished wood table. "For Gawain. For Kingsman."

He drinks, and the brandy tastes bitter on his tongue.

****

Pubs are one of the few businesses still open after V-Day, because now more than ever people have the need to drown their sorrows in alcohol. Eggsy puts on his suit and a new tie, and some of Roxy's makeup to cover the bruises lingering on his face. She offers to help him, but he waves her off. He's had loads of practice over the years, thanks to Dean.

Looking like a proper Kingsman, he makes his way to the Black Prince. There he beats the shit out of Dean and his goons, and the satisfaction he thought it would give him is cold and black. Afterward he installs his mum and Daisy in their new house, which isn't too far from Harry's house, but that's something he's not supposed to be thinking about. He stays over for dinner, and his laughter sounds hollow and fake, but nobody seems to notice. And then he tells his mum that he has to go.

She's tearful. She doesn't understand. He's just a tailor. Why he would leave when he just came back?

He tells her it's part of the job. Lots of important rich people need good suits now. There's lots of funerals to attend and state occasions, that kind of thing. It's a shit lie but she believes it anyway. Or she pretends she does. Either way, the result is the same. Three days after coming home, Eggsy goes away again.

****

Being a Kingsman agent is great. It keeps him busy and on his toes and he nearly dies twice in the first week.

He fucking loves it.

His first few missions have him traveling all over the globe, sending him to cities where Richmond Valentine's factories were located. In each case, his objective is the same: figure out a way to safely evacuate the workers from the factory so he can burn it to the ground.

This is how it works in Kingsman, apparently. Valentine was his kill, so Valentine's mess is his to clean up. Like destroying the factories that manufactured all those sim cards, along with the research and documentation on them. No one can ever be allowed to follow in Valentine's footsteps. It's a mission statement Eggsy wholeheartedly supports, even though he wonders how the fuck he's going to actually accomplish it.

One thing at a time, Roxy tells him over the phone one night. She's somewhere in Venezuela then, doing her part as Lancelot, trying to keep the world from tipping over into one giant catastrophe. V-Day might have been averted, but that doesn't mean shit, as Eggsy well knows. Valentine's hand was on that desk for minutes at a time. A lot can happen in five minutes.

But even five minutes doesn't matter. Just one second (one shot) is all it takes to change the world.

****

Every other day he dutifully calls Harry.

It's not always easy, given that their conversations are reduced to video calls once he's back safely in his hotel room. Still, he calls faithfully when he can, and no matter the time difference between them (time zones are a bitch), Harry always answers and smiles to see him.

Those calls are simultaneously the best part of Eggsy's day, and the thing he dreads the most. It's wonderful to be able to see Harry, to talk to him, to reassure himself that Harry is recovering from the gunshot that nearly claimed his life. But at the same time, it's exquisite torture to be so far away, to hold back the words he wants to say, and remember that he is now only Harry's friend.

And after every call, he sits there in his hotel room and replays it back in his head. Looking for some hint that Harry still wants him, listening for a double meaning to something Harry might have said.

He never finds anything, though.

Usually after these calls, he finds himself gazing thoughtfully at the laptop. Some days he wastes half a second debating with himself before opening his email. Other days he just gets right to it. 

_Dear Eggsy,_

_I wanted to apologize to you for losing my temper this morning. I said things I now regret…_

By now he's read the email from Harry approximately 352 times. And still he keeps reading it, even though he's long since memorized it. Twice he's been brave enough to delete it, but both times he panicked and restored it back to his inbox. He might know it by heart, but he still needs to see the actual words.

He thinks he might be losing his mind.

****

Harry comes home on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, a trip decidedly less pleasant than the last time he made this journey, on his way back from Valentine's house and the dinner where he inadvertently gave himself away.

His house smells musty with disuse, and a layer of dust covers everything. He opens all the windows in spite of the chilly, misty rain that covers all of London. The fresh air is more welcome than any worries about the temperature.

He moves slowly through each room. He feels old and graceless. His head hurts abominably, and with every breath, his broken ribs stab him with pain. All week long he's been looking forward to coming home, but now that he's here, he just feels restless and discontent.

It takes some time to figure out why: it's the house itself. This used to be his refuge, his escape from a world full of unspeakable evils, many of which he's had a hand in. He's always found a measure of peace in these quiet rooms and the order of his collections, all those butterflies and coins gathered under glass in stately rows that defy the chaos running rampant out there. But now the house just feels tired and old, like himself.

He's lonely, Harry realizes.

He misses Eggsy and their calls. Eggsy always seems slightly stiff and formal at first, like he's calling out of obligation, but he calls faithfully all the same. And usually by the end of each call, his smiles seem more genuine, his tone a little more animated. On their last call he made a comment about the scar on Harry's forehead, and Harry had said dryly that he was thinking of changing his last name to Potter. Eggsy had actually laughed at that one. Only for a little bit before suddenly seeming to recollect himself, but still, the memory of Eggsy's laughter makes Harry feel both warmer and yet more lonely than before.

He wonders where Eggsy is now. He could call Eggsy and show off the fact that he's home – but he won't take that chance. Eggsy is an active Kingsman agent now. At this very moment he could be in a situation requiring stealth, where even one single unexpected noise would put him in danger.

No, Harry will wait for Eggsy to call him.

In the meantime, there are things he needs to do. He walks slowly into the dining room. One by one he takes the bottles of liquor from the sideboard and pours their contents down the sink. The fumes make his eyes water, but he perseveres. He is through with alcohol. He never wants to get drunk again, or experience anything that will leave him in less than total control of himself. He might not remember how it felt to be Valentine's puppet, but he doesn't need to. Just the knowledge that it happened is horrible enough.

There are a lot of bottles. In the end all he keeps is a bottle of Lagavulin whisky that is Merlin's favorite, and a mostly-empty bottle of gin. He has no rational reason for holding onto that one over the others – he can't remember the last time he made himself a martini – but for some reason he can't bring himself to get rid of it.

He stashes both bottles far back in the cabinet, then rinses the sink out. From there he moves through the kitchen, wiping down the counters and the stove top.

He stops then, sponge in hand, gazing out at the dining room. There's plenty more to do, and he hasn't even been upstairs yet, but he knows he's done for now.

It's too quiet in here. While he was stuck in that hospital in Kentucky, he thought the constant noise would drive him mad. The pages over the PA, the voices in the hall, the interruptions for meds, therapy, blood pressure checks. He longed then for the quiet stillness of his own house.

And now he can't stand it.

He'll go to HQ, Harry decides. He doesn't have to report until tomorrow, but there's no time like the present. And it will be good to visit with Merlin again, and see for himself how Kingsman is faring in the aftermath of V-Day.

And it'll give him something to do until Eggsy calls.

The thought brings him up short.

It's appalling. He's over fifty years old, he's been a spy and a killer for over half his life, and when it comes to Eggsy Unwin, he has completely and utterly lost his mind.

There's no explaining it. God knows he's tried. They had such a short time together, and yet his feelings for Eggsy are simply undeniable.

He hesitates to put a label on those feelings, to force them into a single abstract word. He doesn't even know when or how it happened. He knows only that Eggsy makes him happier than he has ever been, and that given the chance, he would gladly spend the rest of his life with Eggsy.

No one else knows, he has that much comfort, at least. Merlin might suspect, simply because they've been friends for so long, but he is the only one. Harry's secret remains a secret.

Which is fortunate, because now more than ever he has to keep that secret. Eggsy is a Kingsman now, no longer his student or apprentice or whatever the politically correct term is, and that means the way ahead is clear – if he wants to go down that road. And he does, he very much does. The problem is Eggsy himself. There is nothing at all in Eggsy's behavior to indicate that he thinks of Harry as anything other than a friend, and even that might be pushing it, given how uncomfortable he seems at the start of their nightly call.

Harry sighs. It's for the best, he tells himself. He's twice Eggsy's age, he's responsible for Eggsy's father's death, and that's just for starters. There's no way there could ever be anything between them.

He has to put such thoughts out of his head. For good.

He sets the sponge down beside the sink and heads upstairs. He goes slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves. Broken ribs are a bitch to recover from, especially at his age; he has no intention of lingering in some miserable half-healed state for months.

He should go straight at the top of the stairs, toward his own bedroom, but instead he finds himself going left. Toward the office and guest room.

The office looks the same as it always does – except for the chair, which is shoved back against the wall. As though whoever sat in it last stood up and left quite abruptly.

He thinks of Merlin sitting beside his bed in the hospital in Kentucky. _Eggsy witnessed the whole thing. Apparently he watched it on your home computer._ He remembers the slightly lifted eyebrow, the silent question hanging between them of Harry's password, something he's never given to anyone at Kingsman, not even Merlin.

But evidently he gave it to Eggsy.

Is it still there, the footage from his glasses that day at the church? If he opens the laptop now, would he be able to watch himself killing all those people?

Would he remember?

Harry turns away and crosses the hall. Some things are best left unremembered, he thinks.

Some things. Not all things.

The bed in the guest room is made up, but in a hasty, half-assed manner. The bedding is all rumpled, and only one pillow is visible; the other is just a lump beneath the bedspread. His red dressing gown is draped across the foot of the bed. His slippers are almost underneath the bed, one of them turned upside down.

He remembers preparing for Eggsy's stay, buying an extra toothbrush and razor, setting out the towels, making the bed with fresh sheets. He had never once doubted that Eggsy would pass the skydiving test, or worried that he would give in to Dagonet on the train tracks. He had always known that he would bring Eggsy back here for the 24 hours they were allowed to spend together.

Merlin told him he did just that. But what happened during that time is lost, erased from his brain along with his memories of the church.

And while he doesn't ever want to remember what happened inside that church, it would be worth it, Harry thinks, if it meant getting to remember what happened between Eggsy and himself.

What did they talk about during their time together, which was barely half of what they should have had. Did they come straight here after Merlin released them, or did they go out for coffee and something to eat? What did Eggsy think of his house, and what excuse did he use to keep Eggsy out of the downstairs bathroom so there wouldn't be any awkward questions about Mr. Pickle? How did Eggsy react to the newspaper headlines on the office walls?

What happened when it came time for bed? How did his dressing gown and slippers end up in here?

He knows he wouldn't have done anything that could be considered unprofessional. Not when Eggsy was still just a candidate, not yet an official Kingsman. No matter how much he might have wanted to, he wouldn't have done anything so foolish as to kiss Eggsy. Would he have sat there imagining it though? Oh, undoubtedly. After all, he's been attracted to Eggsy from that very first day they met, sitting across from him in the Black Prince.

Falling for Eggsy's heart, that took a little bit longer.

Harry sighs. He sits on the edge of the bed and rests his hand on the dressing gown. He wonders if Eggsy wore it, and if so, what he looked like in it.

He's not going to HQ, he decides. He's not going anywhere. Not today. He's too damn tired.

He's just going to sleep, right here in this bed, in this place where Eggsy once slept.

****

Somehow, two months go by.

Eggsy passes the time by being everything he is supposed to be. He's the dutiful Kingsman, killing whoever needs to be killed, stopping other people from being killed. The dutiful son, calling home every night he can, laughing with Daisy and quietly encouraging his mum to finally make the decision to divorce Dean and leave him for good. The dutiful friend, staying in touch with Roxy and making sure she's doing all right.

And every other night, he makes that call and is the dutiful professional colleague to Harry. He asks how Harry is doing, but he doesn't pry. He doesn't ask personal questions. He listens to the stories Harry tells him, and he laughs when he's supposed to, but he doesn't volunteer much about what's happening to him.

Twice Harry asks when he'll be back in London. Both times Eggsy hedges and says he doesn't know. That part, at least, is true. What he doesn't say is that Merlin has apologized profusely to him, saying it's not usual for agents to be out in the field this long, and promising to bring him back in as soon as possible.

Eggsy just shrugs and says he's fine with it. The world is in chaos, things have to be brought back to order, and Kingsman can do that. _He_ can do that.

It's funny, he thinks one evening, lying on his belly on the roof of a hotel that's almost completely vacant because there are so few people to occupy it now. It might be Armenia, might be Belgium. He can't remember. The sniper rifle fits his hands like it was tailored for him, a fact he finds darkly amusing when he bothers to think about it at all.

Harry once told him that Kingsman operated at the highest levels of discretion, but never bothered to explain what such a bullshit phrase actually _meant_. Turns out, what it means is that the decisions are left up to Eggsy. No one tells him he has to kill so-and-so, or steal such-and-such. He's merely given the information about a mission and then told to do what he sees fit to achieve his end.

Normally an agent gets plenty of time to familiarize himself with the particulars of a mission. There's research to be done beforehand, lots of it. The former Lancelot apparently spent over two years working on Valentine's case alone – albeit without knowing that's who he was going after. But things are too crazy out there now and there just isn't enough time. Snap judgments rule the day, and more than once Eggsy regrets letting someone live when he shouldn't have – and twice he ends up crouched in an alley, throwing up his dinner after a kill he bitterly wishes he could have avoided.

But that's life. That's being a Kingsman. This is what he wanted, after all.

So he's a little bit surprised and a whole lot relieved when he finally gets the call from Merlin summoning him home. A little grateful too, as he packs up his things and hails a taxi for the airport. He has a moment of panic when he can't remember which passport is safe to use, but then he's good, it's all good, he's going home again.

HQ seems cold and empty after weeks spent living out of small hotel rooms. He crashes in the rooms he used once before, in that brief period after V-Day but before he was knighted. He sleeps for 24 hours and wakes up with a full bladder, an empty stomach, and a renewed feeling of energy. He also feels lighter somehow, like he's left an awful lot of shit behind on those strange city roads and rooftops.

It's mid-morning, so Eggsy's first stop is the dining hall, where he once sat and had meals with the other candidates for Lancelot's title. He remembers dodging a dinner roll Rufus threw at his head and dumping a bowl of lukewarm soup on Digby's lap. He and Roxy had plotted out all kinds of villainous schemes over scalding hot coffee, and Charlie had spat in his food one day.

Now there's only himself and a man in a plaid jumpsuit, a gardener maybe, or someone who works in the hangar. He and Eggsy exchange solemn nods, but don't speak.

He eats quickly, then heads for the immense sitting room where Chester King once asked him to shoot JB. Later today he'll go home and spend some time with his family, but first he owes Merlin a debriefing.

The great room is still the same as he remembers. A fire burns on the hearth, and the two leather armchairs are the same brown color. The same books sit unread on the shelves, and the drapes are the same ghastly shade of yellow. But today it's Merlin sitting in Arthur's chair; he stands up and smiles to see Eggsy, and extends his hand.

For half a second Eggsy thinks about saying screw it to the handshake and going in for the hug, but then he remembers himself. He's supposed to be the professional agent now, the perfect gentleman. So he shakes Merlin's hand and he sits carefully in the armchair, making sure not to mess up his suit.

Chester King made him feel like an outsider intruding, like he was one step short of stealing the silverware. But Merlin smiles at him with genuine welcome, and Eggsy breathes deep and feels some more of the shit from the past few months leave him. He belongs here, yes. Being a Kingsman isn't easy or glamorous, and he should never have forgotten that. But it's worthwhile and it's important, and he wouldn't give it up for anything.

Merlin makes small talk at first, asking after his family and how he's doing, quizzing him on a couple of his most recent missions. Eggsy answers truthfully for the most part, skimming over the stuff that nobody wants to hear, like how he wakes up most nights in a cold sweat, or the way flashing lights tend to take him back to Valentine's bunker and the terrifying certainty that he is about to be sliced in half by the sharpest blades he's ever seen.

It's easy to forget that Merlin is now Arthur, head of the entire UK branch of Kingsman. So when Merlin suddenly starts talking about Harry, it throws Eggsy so off guard that he doesn't really know how to react.

"Thankfully things shouldn't be quite so hard on you after this," Merlin says, and Eggsy glances away, wondering just how much he's fooled Merlin into thinking he's all right. Apparently not much, if that remark is anything to go by. "I'm pleased to say that Galahad will be going back out into the field very soon."

"Oh?" Eggsy says, and it comes out in a strangled little croak that does absolutely nothing to further his pretense that he only thinks about Harry in professional terms these days.

"Yes," Merlin says. "He was given a clean bill of health just this morning."

"Good," Eggsy says, and absolutely does not think about what that means. "That's good."

"Yes, it is," Merlin says. Then he adds, "However, I'm withholding judgment for the time being. He may have passed all the tests, but this is Harry we're talking about. He can be very…sly."

Unable to help it, Eggsy smirks at this.

"I wouldn't put it past him to falsify some of his answers just so he can get back out there," Merlin says.

Still smirking, Eggsy nods, because yeah. Harry so would. Then again, so would Eggsy. Neither of them is the type of person to enjoy just sitting around on their arses.

"Which is why I need someone to keep an eye on him for his first mission back," Merlin says.

Eggsy's smile vanishes. He suddenly has a very bad feeling about where this is headed. "Percival—" he starts.

"Percival knows the agent, not the man," Merlin says. "Besides, it's tradition to pair up a new agent with his sponsor for the first few months. Kingsman doesn't normally send rookies out alone, the way we've done with you and Lancelot. You both still have a lot to learn. Things being what they are since V-Day, we've had to bend the rules for you two."

"But," Eggsy says, and then clenches his jaw. _I can't_ , is what he wants to say. But there's no way to explain that to Merlin, no way to admit that he can't handle a mission with Harry when he can barely even handle a video call every other night.

No, he's got to man up, do the job, and get through it somehow. Even though he's pretty sure it's going to kill him.

He looks up and sees that Merlin is staring at him expectantly, impatiently. In full Arthur mode now. "Yeah, all right," Eggsy says. As if he has a choice. "But I really don't think he's gonna tell me anything."

"Probably not," Merlin agrees. "But you have a better chance than anyone else of knowing when to be concerned."

Eggsy nods unhappily. What a fucking joke. Now it's his _job_ to actually watch carefully over Harry and try to read too much into everything he says and does.

Apparently he's not that good at keeping a straight face, because Merlin says, "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, sure," Eggsy replies automatically. It's always his answer to that question, so reflexive he hardly even knows he's saying it anymore. It sure as hell beats the truth.

"If you don't think you can handle it—" Merlin starts.

"I can do it," Eggsy snaps. "Fucking hell, give me _some_ credit."

"There you go," Merlin says approvingly. He doesn't seem to care that he's Eggsy's boss now, or that Eggsy just swore at him.

So that's it, then. He's well and truly fucked. Which means there's only one question left to ask. "Does Harry know?"

"No," Merlin says. "I thought I'd let you be the one to give him the good news." And damn him, he actually looks pleased about this, like he's doing Eggsy a big favor, like it's this great thing that they get to go off on a mission together.

The sad thing is, once upon a time, it would have been.

 _Fuck it_ , Eggsy thinks. He stands up, the eager little soldier off to do his duty yet again. "Better go tell him, then."

"I think he's on the track," Merlin says. He stands up as well. "You'll be fine, Eggsy. You both will."

He nods and turns to go. He's nearly out the door when Merlin speaks again. The words are quiet, no doubt not meant for him, but he can still hear them just fine.

"You better be."

****

He finds Harry outside, having just come off the mile-long running track. Harry is breathing heavily and soaked in sweat, his hair plastered in damp curls to his forehead. And he's sly, all right, a master of using the right angle and lighting, because on their video calls he always looks like he's doing just fine. In person, though, he is much too pale and thin, more like someone who's spent the last two months recovering from a fractured skull and broken ribs. The new scar on his brow is shiny pink, and looks tender to the touch.

Seeing him again, standing here in front of him, fills Eggsy with razor-sharp pain. He wants to wrap his arms around Harry and never let go. And then snog him until they can't breathe, and they fall to the ground and his suit is ruined and they're both wet with sweat. He wants to roll them over and pin Harry's shoulders to the earth with his knees and demand that Harry remember him, that day they lost, and that promise he made.

He wants to kiss Harry until Harry remembers _all_ of him.

"Eggsy." Harry smiles at him with genuine happiness. Dressed in a Kingsman T-shirt and black track pants, he's as casual as Eggsy has ever seen. It's a good look on him – but then again, he always looks good.

"Hey, Harry," Eggsy says. He keeps his hands thrust in the pockets of his tailored trousers. It's probably rude, but if he doesn't stand still, he's going to give in to the urge to hug Harry.

And if that happens, he seriously won't be accountable for the consequences.

Harry's smile slowly fades. He stands up a little straighter, somehow managing to look like a proper gentleman even when he's all sweaty and wearing trainers. "Arthur told me you were back."

There's a hint of disapproval in his voice, like he's not pleased he had to hear it from someone other than Eggsy himself. Which is bollocks, because Eggsy isn't his pupil anymore, and he doesn't owe Harry anything.

"Yeah," he says. "Yesterday."

"How long are you staying?" Harry asks.

"Funny, that," Eggsy says. "That's why I was comin' to see you." He takes a deep breath and just goes for it. "Your first mission? Is with me. So I guess you could say I'm only staying as long as you are."

Harry blinks in shock. For a moment he looks truly delighted, then he quickly masks his expression. "Well," he says, "that's certainly unexpected."

"Merlin says Kingsman usually pairs new agents with their sponsor," Eggsy says, just to see what Harry will say.

It's colossally unfair. He's almost glad he hadn't known this before he failed his test with the dog, because if he _had_ known, he would have wasted weeks and months on daydreams of him and Harry out there together, Kingsman spies who literally had each other's back. Not that he hadn't already imagined it over and over during his training, of course, but it would have been different if he had known it was an actual possibility within his grasp, not just a fantasy.

And now the fantasy has become reality – and he doesn't want it.

He _should_ want it, he knows that much. This is the perfect chance to let Harry fall in love with him all over again. They can truly start over now.

But it just hurts too fucking much.

"Yes, they do," Harry says. "But I didn't think…" He smiles at Eggsy, warm and proud, the way he used to. "After everything you've already accomplished, I don't really consider you a rookie anymore."

In spite of everything, the praise warms Eggsy and makes him crave more.

And fucking hell, he does want this, he does. He can't lie to himself. It's a second chance, and he wants it so badly it hurts. He wants to spend time with Harry. He wants to show Harry what he can do. He wants to get Harry alone and talk with him for hours.

And maybe, just maybe, then he can have what he really wants.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give thanks here to [HumanTrampoline](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanTrampoline/pseuds/HumanTrampoline) and [nightwalker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/pseuds/nightwalker) for all their encouragement, support, and feedback. And to everyone who has left feedback so far, thank you so much.

Their mission is simple enough: stop a man from acquiring smart bombs. Actually carrying it out, however, is just a bit more complicated.

The surveillance and information teams have already compiled information on the target, a man in Dublin named Donald Grady. There's a long report on his activities and the criminal organization he belongs to, but what it basically boils down to is that he's not a very nice man.

"He would still be little more than a glorified bodyguard for the former gang leaders," Harry says, "except he killed all his superiors on V-Day. Now he's the one in charge."

"Good for him," Eggsy snarks.

They're in the enormous Kingsman library. A few other men and women sit here, tapping away quietly at keyboards or making notes on legal pads. This is where a mission really begins, with some analyst putting together information and bringing it to someone else's attention. He's expected to pull his weight here, too, once things in the world settle down again. He'll be responsible for his own missions then, putting that "discretion" of his to good use.

But for now, this is what he's got. This report, these sickening photos, this surveillance data indicating that Donald Grady wants to buy some smart bombs and then either sell them to the highest bidder or use them himself. The report isn't exactly clear on what he intends. Either way, he has to be stopped.

Harry looks at him with some exasperation. He's back in a suit, grey wool with a white shirt and black tie. His hair is perfectly styled, and now that it's not falling onto his forehead, there's nothing to hide the slowly healing marks from his ordeal.

"You could at least try to focus," Harry reproves.

That's a laugh. As if Eggsy can focus on anything except Harry's proximity, and the tantalizing sight of his slender wrists peeking out from pristine white cuffs.

"I'm focused," he grumbles.

"Oh?" Harry says. "Then what is your plan to get to Grady?"

Eggsy leans back in his chair, confident and calm. "Simple enough," he says. "He's too paranoid to take the same route to his office every day. And he's always surrounded with his own guys, a driver and a bodyguard. So I take him out the same way I been taking out most everyone else: from the roof of the building across the street from his office."

Harry shakes his head. He looks disappointed. "No," he says. "That won't work. And you would know that if you had actually bothered to read this report."

Stung, Eggsy sits up again. "I _did_ read it."

"No, you didn't," Harry says. "Or you would know that he's bought all the property adjacent to his office, and staffed them with security details he's got in his pocket."

Disgruntled, Eggsy folds his arms. "So what's your idea then?"

"It's also relatively simple," Harry says. "However, it will take some time to implement, and it will require some sleight of hand from you."

In spite of himself, Eggsy is intrigued. "I can do that," he says.

"I know you can," Harry says with some pride. It's enough to make Eggsy wonder if Harry's watched the video of him killing Chester King, and if so, what he thought.

As difficult as it is to sit across from Harry and pretend that they're just two colleagues, he can't deny that he loves this. This is the fantasy become reality. He's finally getting to work with Harry, making plans, getting ready to go out there together as Kingsman agents.

For a moment he wonders what would happen if he were to reach across the table and lay his hand atop Harry's. Would Harry be surprised? Angry?

Is there any part of Harry that still wants him?

"You're exactly right when you say Grady is paranoid," Harry says, and that's it, he waited too long and now the moment is gone. He forces himself to focus on what Harry is saying, to remember why he's really here. "He gained his position through a combination of violence and luck, and he's terrified he'll lose it again. But he does have some routines he follows, and that's how we'll get to him."

"You mean the restaurant," Eggsy says.

Grady likes to eat at the same restaurant several times a week, a posh place called The Black Hat. The report says it's unclear if he has an attachment to any of the staff there, or if he just likes the food. Eggsy, who was a chav once himself (and still is, really), suspects it's a third option altogether, one Kingsman wouldn't even think of. Simply put, Donald Grady is a somebody now, wearing a tailored suit and in charge of a small criminal organization that's looking to expand. He wants to leave his rough ways behind and show everyone that he finally made it. Spending money in a fancy restaurant four times a week is an easy way to achieve that end.

"Yes," Harry says.

"So we wait for him after he leaves," Eggsy says, and he's getting into it now, the easy back-and-forth of two people working toward a common goal.

"Not exactly," Harry says.

Harry's idea is a bit more complicated than that. It requires Eggsy to take a job at the restaurant, one of the many servers in white who walks around discreetly refilling people's water glasses after a diner does anything more than take a sip or two. On a night they choose, Eggsy will attach a tracker to Grady's person and slip some poison in Grady's glass. Harry will follow Grady and his driver and bodyguard when they leave the restaurant, and activate the poison from the safety of his own vehicle.

"When Grady begins convulsing, the driver will pull over to see what's wrong. It's a simple matter then to take out both driver and bodyguard, and make sure Grady is dead." Harry looks satisfied with himself. "Little danger to either of us, and our objective achieved in one night."

"Except for the part where I gotta spend a couple weeks pouring water for a bunch of rich tossers," Eggsy says.

"You can keep your tips, if it helps," Harry says. He keeps a straight face, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

Eggsy gives him the two-fingered salute, and Harry just shakes his head. "If you have a better idea, I'm ready to hear it."

There's got to be a better way, a quicker way, something that doesn't involve spending two weeks or more holed up in a Dublin safe house with Harry. But Eggsy can't think of anything off the top of his head, and anyway, he doesn't really want to. It might kill him to spend that much time with Harry and have to pretend he isn't thinking about kissing him – but it's the chance he wanted.

A lot can happen in two weeks. There will be lots of time for him and Harry to talk. Time to maybe fall in love all over again.

So he says, "Nah, we can do it your way. But it's my call the night we do it." After all, it'll be his ass on the line if he's caught.

"Of course," Harry says.

So that's it, then. He and Harry are going to Ireland.

****

Eggsy makes the trip first. He's got a job interview to attend.

It goes pretty well. He's got a fake CV listing all kinds of experience in posh restaurants in London, including fake references that Kingsman will provide, should anyone at The Black Hat decide to call. He also has a fake name and backstory to explain why he's left London and moved to Dublin. It's fairly easy role-playing, and Eggsy sails effortlessly through the interview. His suit and posh accent go a long way toward getting him hired, and when he's asked to demonstrate his water-pouring abilities, he pulls it off without a hitch, spilling not so much as one drop.

He says good-bye to the lady who interviewed him and heads for the safe house, which is the address listed on his CV. His things are already here, enough clothing to last him two weeks and all the gear a Kingsman could need. Not that he plans on needing to actually use any of it (although the umbrella will certainly come in handy in the Irish weather), but it's always best to be prepared.

He sleeps alone in the house that night, having claimed the largest bedroom for himself. Why shouldn't he, after all? He was here first.

The next morning he's at the kitchen table, sipping his first coffee of the day, when his mobile rings. It's the lady from The Black Hat. Can he start tonight? 

It's showtime.

****

Harry arrives that afternoon, loaded down with garment bags and a suitcase – and several Kingsman pens full of poison. Eggsy watches him walk inside and doesn't offer to help carry anything. He might not get many opportunities to stare at Harry without being noticed, and he damn well plans to take advantage of every chance he gets.

It's only been one day since they started planning for this mission, but already Harry seems revitalized. He doesn't look tired anymore, or like he's still recuperating from V-Day. He's full of energy and purpose, and when he catches Eggsy staring at him, he smiles. "All ready then?"

Eggsy nods and quickly looks away. Damnit. "Yeah," he says. "My shift starts at 4:00."

"Good," Harry says. "I'll come by around 8:00 for dinner."

"What?" Eggsy says. He hadn't expected this.

Harry drapes one of the garment bags across the nearest armchair. "I want to check out Mr. Grady for myself." Off Eggsy's look he adds, "From a safe distance, of course."

"Of course," Eggsy says, laying the sarcasm on thick.

That sarcasm is lost on Harry. "If circumstances call for me to help you," he says, "it's important for me to have established a presence in the restaurant. Grady himself might not pay too much attention to his fellow diners and how often they show up, but you can bet his bodyguard will."

"And you don't think it'll be suspicious if you suddenly start eating there?" Eggsy asks.

"On the contrary," Harry says, and he suddenly has a flawless American accent. "Why shouldn't a businessman who's in town for an indeterminate stay want to eat at one of Dublin's finest restaurants?"

Eggsy has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning out loud. He didn't know there would be accents involved when he took this gig. If he'd known…

Hell, if he'd known, he wouldn't have done a damn thing different. How could he? Any chance to spend time alone with Harry is worth it.

"I'm sure it won't come up, though," Harry says reassuringly.

Eggsy thinks about that disastrous dinner with Valentine, and hopes not. He has no doubt that Harry is good at his job, but there's no two ways about it – the man is seriously shite at following through on a cover story.

And just like that, Eggsy is actually grateful for his undercover job. This way he can keep an eye both on Harry, and on Grady. If it looks like Grady has any suspicions about Harry, Eggsy will be the first to know. He can warn Harry. He can keep him safe.

Anything is worth that. Anything.

****

The job at the restaurant isn't difficult, but before his shift is halfway over, Eggsy is ready to say fuck it and just quit. People, especially people eating in posh places like this, are fucking _dicks_. They're rude, they're pushy, and they leap on any excuse not to tip. Standing there in his white shirt and black tie, indistinguishable from some of the diners except for the white apron tied about his waist, Eggsy gains a new appreciation for the folks who work in restaurants.

"I'm never again gonna complain about my food," he mutters.

Over the glasses, Harry says, "Is that a promise?" and he can _hear_ the smirk in Harry's voice.

"Shut it," he snaps, and then he stands at attention, because Harry is walking inside.

And it's not fair, it's not fucking _fair_ that he has to stand here with his silver water pitcher, pretending to care whether Ms. Snooty Diner #3 has her water glass topped off. Not when Harry fucking Hart is walking over to an empty table, dressed in a dark gray pinstriped suit. He's absolutely bloody gorgeous, and Eggsy sees people glance up as he walks by – then look again. It's probably the scar drawing their attention. Or maybe not. Many of the women smile to themselves and look appreciative. The men look envious, eyeballing the suit mostly – although a few of them check out the man wearing it, too.

Harry takes his seat, smiles at the hostess who seated him, then glances around the restaurant with interest. His gaze moves over Donald Grady without pausing, even though the man is seated only two tables away.

He looks right through Eggsy, too.

That brings Eggsy up short. He tells himself it means nothing. Harry is playing a role now, and so is he, and he'd do well to remember that. 

But it still fucking hurts.

Deliberately looking away, Eggsy moves over to a nearby table and pours water for the couple sitting there. They thank him absently, and he nods in return. He glances at the other tables, sees Harry looking thoughtfully over his menu, then retreats to his station beside the wall.

He doesn't look again at Harry. He doesn't think about going up to Harry and kissing him until he's breathless and everyone in the restaurant is making shocked little noises. He doesn't think about shoving all that fancy silverware and crystal to the floor and pushing Harry back onto that crisp white linen tablecloth and shagging him right then and there. And he absolutely does not think about that night in Harry's house, and Harry saying, _I am rejecting your advances for this night, and this night only._

Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He looks up and sees an old bloke in a heavy overcoat impatiently flagging him down. 

Eggsy sighs and goes to pour him some water.

****

It's well after midnight when he gets back to the safe house. A single lamp is lit in the living room, throwing deep shadows throughout the room. Harry sits on the far end of the couch, waiting for him. His jacket is off, but otherwise he's still buttoned up tight. "How did it go?"

"Lovely," Eggsy groans. He sinks onto a chair set opposite the couch. "And I get to do it all over again tomorrow night. You know, considering what happened just a couple months ago, you'd think people would be nicer to each other."

"I'm afraid most people have rather short memories," Harry says.

The words hang there between them. Harry looks almost stricken. Eggsy can't even look at him; he has to turn away and pretend to pluck some crumbs off his sleeve.

He won't say anything. He won't. Harry obviously didn't mean anything by it. He's an arsehole if he makes a snarky comment now, and a _total_ arsehole if he asks Harry if he's remembered anything about that missing day yet.

"So," Harry says, and his voice is a little bit strained, "what did you learn about Mr. Donald Grady?"

Eggsy jumps at the chance to change the subject. "He likes his steak cooked medium," he says. "He's right-handed. And he's got a sweet tooth. He ordered two desserts."

Harry nods. "Well done."

Having fully expected to be scolded for such a pathetic report, Eggsy blinks in surprise. "Thanks," he mutters.

"I know you can't ask any questions about him just yet," Harry says. "Not in your persona as waiter." He starts to loosen the knot in his tie. "That's why we're here pursuing more…long-term results."

Once again Eggsy has to look away. He can't sit here and watch Harry take off his tie – or any article of clothing – and pretend he's not affected by it. He's tired and cross and if he can't have Harry, then frankly he just wants to go to bed.

A depressing certainty falls over him. It's going to be like this every fucking night. They're going to sit here and talk about Grady and the mission and Eggsy is going to have to keep it together. He's got to be open and friendly, but not _too_ friendly. He's got to show Harry he's interested but not be too obvious about it. He's got to play it cool, and let Harry see what he's missing. He's got to be the perfect Kingsman, the perfect partner, the perfect young gentleman, so Harry will fall for him all over again.

And he is absolutely going to fuck it all up. He just knows it.

"Look," he says. He stands up. "It's been a long day. I'm just gonna…" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the stairs. "Yeah?"

Harry looks like he wants to protest, but he doesn't. He just smiles faintly and nods. "All right. I apologize for keeping you up."

 _You didn't_ , Eggsy wants to say, but it just seems like too much effort. He's had to pretend all night long, acting like he wanted nothing more than to top off the water glasses of all those rich jerks sitting there looking down their noses at him – when they even bothered to look at him at all. He really doesn't think he can pretend anymore. Not tonight.

"Good night," Harry says.

"Yeah," Eggsy says, and heads vaguely toward the stairs.

He doesn't look back.

****

He dreams that night of the church. It's an all-too familiar dream, and he moans in the back of his throat when he realizes where he is.

All around him are normal, everyday people caught in the grip of unspeakable violence. He's the only one not affected, the only voice of reason. He's had this dream so many times before that he knows it by heart. In the past he's tried to talk to them, to end the cycle of bloodshed, but it never makes any difference. Nothing he says or does can change the outcome of this day.

Still, he tries. He ducks a punch aimed at his face and rolls away from a knife trying to stab him in the belly. Up ahead he can see a tight little circle of chaos and violence, and he knows Harry is at the center of that maelstrom, the eye of the hurricane.

He shoves people aside, kicks and hits until he's there. And for a moment they stand face to face.

"Harry," he says. "Stop. Don't do this. Please."

Harry stares at him, wild-eyed and covered in blood. It's not just his hands that are red; his face is streaked with it, too. It mats his hair and drenches his suit and causes him to leave bloody footprints behind as he approaches Eggsy. It runs down his back from the knife wound he got only moments ago; he's bleeding to death but doesn't know it, and it doesn't matter because in a few minutes he'll be dead anyway.

"Harry, stop," Eggsy pleads.

And Harry comes at him, his eyes dark and deadly. Because he doesn't know Eggsy. He doesn't remember Eggsy.

He doesn't remember.

Eggsy closes his eyes and waits for the end.

****

He wakes with a startled cry, and then yelps again when he sees a shadowy figure in the doorway. For an instant he sees Harry from his dream, blood-soaked and lost in the killing haze. Then he blinks and it's just plain Harry, barefoot and wearing gray pajamas, hair all corkscrewed from sleep.

"Are you all right?" Harry asks quietly.

"Yeah," Eggsy says. It comes out rough, like he's speaking through a mouthful of gravel.

Harry doesn't say anything right away. He lingers, though, just kind of standing there in the doorway like he's unsure if he should come in or keep going.

"I said I'm fine," Eggsy says, louder this time. No one knows about the nightmares, not even Roxy. He can't tell anyone, can't let them know. He can't afford for anyone to think he's less than capable, or suggest that he should come in from the field and spend some time at home. He needs to be out here, he needs to be trying to put the world back together again.

After all, it's all his fault that everything is so fucked up right now. The least he can do is try to make it right.

"Good night, then," Harry says, and he sounds so formal that Eggsy half-expects him to bow.

He turns away, and when he looks back, the hallway is empty and Harry is gone.

He thumps his fist into the pillow and sighs.

****

After that first day, there is plenty to do. Hours of surveillance to be made, notes to be taken, plans to be made and remade as new developments occur. Harry is out more often than he is in, covertly following Donald Grady as closely as he dares and learning everything he can about the man.

Within a week he knows who Grady is meeting to buy the bombs from, and who he hopes to sell them to. He's had dinner at The Black Hat four times and nodded an absent greeting to Grady on the last two occasions, just one man acknowledging a familiar face in a sea of strangers. He's driven the three different roads Grady's driver takes on his way from the restaurant to Grady's home. One of them won't do at all, but there are places along the other two that suit his needs, empty stretches of road that are perfect for a murder. If Grady's driver picks the third route on the day Eggsy gives him the poison, they'll just have to wait until the next opportunity. After all, the poison itself is harmless as long as Harry doesn't activate it, and within 24 hours it will be out of Grady's system entirely with the man never knowing just how close he came to dying.

Since they plan to kill him anyway, though, Harry doesn't really spare any thought for Grady's feelings on the matter.

He doesn't see much of Eggsy.

He's out during the day, shadowing Grady. By the time he returns to the safe house, Eggsy has already left for his shift at the restaurant. On the nights when he goes there to eat, he takes care not to make eye contact with Eggsy – and on the one night when he's seated in Eggsy's section, he is politely courteous whenever Eggsy serves him, but nothing more. The last thing he wants to do is draw any unnecessary attention to Eggsy.

It's not just about staying in character, though.

Something has happened, something Harry can't define. All he knows for sure is the Eggsy he met at the Black Prince, the Eggsy who forged so confidently forward in his training, is gone.

This new Eggsy is coolly professional, committed to their mission and their goal – and interested in nothing else. Occasionally Harry notices Eggsy looking at him, but he always quickly looks away when he sees Harry catching him at it. He's perfectly willing to sit with Harry and discuss the particulars of their day, and any new information Harry's turned up in the course of his surveillance, but if Harry tries to turn the conversation to more personal matters, he always finds a way to shut it down. He's clearly uncomfortable with anything beyond a working relationship with Harry, going so far as to physically leave the room sometimes.

He supposes it was inevitable. The events of V-Day were horrific, and Eggsy went through an awful lot in a very short time span. Things like that are bound to change a person. And it's not like he knew Eggsy very well before everything that happened with Valentine. Back then Eggsy was trying to better himself by winning a coveted role within Kingsman, competing against people who were just as good as he was. It makes sense that within that context, he would be friendly with Harry, trying to gain any advantage he could. Maybe he thought Harry would give him hints about what to expect in his training. Or maybe he thought it would help his cause if he appeared to have an inside connection with an existing agent.

Or maybe Eggsy was only pretending to like him all along.

He could almost approve of that kind of cold-blooded ambition, if it wasn't for the fact that it hurts like hell.

He wishes he could remember what happened during that missing day, that time they spent together in between Eggsy's test on the train tracks and when he left for Kentucky. If he knew what happened then, maybe he would know what to expect now. Had Eggsy been friendly when they were alone? Had he asked for hints about the upcoming tests? Or had he already been pulling away, becoming the professional young gentleman he is now?

Thinking about it too much, trying to force himself to remember, only makes his head hurt. He'll never know, Harry thinks, and can't decide if he's grateful for that or not.

He has to stay focused, he reminds himself. Perhaps when they are done here and back home in London, he'll make time to sit down with Eggsy and have a long talk.

For now, though, he says nothing. It's neither the time nor the place. They're here to do a job, something Eggsy at least seems to have no trouble remembering. He would do well to take his cue from Eggsy, and behave the same.

So he's taken completely by surprise when Eggsy approaches him on the twelfth night of their stay in Dublin, and says, "I got somethin' for you."

Eggsy doesn't have to work tonight, and so for once they had dinner together; it was a meal eaten mostly in silence, although after some prompting, Harry had got Eggsy to tell him some stories about his little sister. Now the dishes from dinner are done and put away, and it's full dark out. Harry's on the couch with his tablet, whiling away the minutes until it's time for him to leave for his nightly surveillance of Grady. 

A tiny spark of hope lights in his chest when he hears those words. It's the first time since they've been here that Eggsy has made any overtures of friendship. And although his Pavlovian reaction annoys him, Harry still responds immediately by looking up with a smile. "And what might that be?"

"Since I got the night off and all," Eggsy says, "I made you, well, _us_ , something."

Martinis. In both hands, Eggsy is holding a pair of martini glasses.

Harry's throat closes up.

As he came in the living room, Eggsy was looking down at the glasses with a soft, almost shy smile. Now he looks up and says, "Just the way you—"

They stare at each other, Harry in horrified dismay, Eggsy with growing distress. "Harry?"

"I can't," he blurts. "No." He clutches the tablet tightly and hopes Eggsy can't see the way his knuckles whiten with his grip.

Eggsy is completely bewildered, and yet he looks guilty all the same. Obviously he knows he's fucked up, but he doesn't know why.

It almost makes Harry angry. Hasn't Eggsy seen that he only has water with his meals at The Black Hat? He hasn't had a drink the entire time they've been here. Does he really need to come out and say it?

But he does. He knows he does. It's not fair to expect Eggsy to be able to read his mind, especially when it's so apparent that Eggsy doesn't even really want to get to know him.

So he makes himself say it, keeping his tone polite, almost formal. That way it's easier to say such awful things out loud. "I'm very sorry, Eggsy, but I can't accept. I may not remember being in that church or what I did under Valentine's control, but the fact remains: those things happened. And I cannot allow them to happen again. I won't put myself in a position where I might lose control of myself like that ever again. Can you understand that?"

Eggsy swallows hard and nods. The level of liquid in the glasses tilts as his grip on them tightens. "Yeah. I didn't think… I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry."

There's no doubt his remorse is genuine, and Harry slowly relaxes his death grip on the tablet. "You couldn't have known," he says, even though as a spy, Eggsy _should_ have known, should have been observant enough (his friend enough) to know.

"Yeah, but I should've," Eggsy says. His voice is thick with self-directed anger, and even though only a moment ago Harry was angry with him too, he finds he can't abide to know Eggsy is beating himself up like that.

"It's all right," he says. "And please don't let me stop you."

Aghast, Eggsy makes a face. "I would _never_ do that to you!"

He's so vehement that Harry can't help but be touched. Eggsy has such a generous heart, so at odds with his history and his chosen profession. He very much hopes that Eggsy is able to hold onto that heart, that someday he is able to find someone to share it with – even if it won't be himself.

Eggsy returns to the kitchen, taking the martinis with him. Harry hears water running, then nothing but silence for a short time. When Eggsy comes back, his hands are shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, like he's regretting his impulsive attempt at being friends, but he started this so now he's determined to see it through.

Harry thinks of short but animated conversations in the halls of Kingsman HQ, and the way Merlin had told him how Eggsy had constantly asked after him while he was in the coma. He thinks of setting out that extra toothbrush on the morning of Eggsy's test on the train tracks, and how much he had been looking forward to the 24 hours they would get to spend together.

It's almost enough to make him wish he had accepted that drink after all.

"So," Eggsy says. He stands there indecisively for another moment, then he seems to make up his mind. He comes fully into the living room and he sits in the armchair across from the couch. "About Grady."

Harry sets his tablet aside, his brief hope dying out. So it's to be work then. Of course. He doesn't know why he ever expected anything else.

"Yes," he says.

"What's gonna happen to his little gang after we kill him? I mean, who's gonna take over next?"

"We've already discussed this," Harry says. He trusts Eggsy has a reason to bring it up again, however. "Either O'Connell or Hennessey, depending on which one moves quicker."

"Yeah, I know," Eggsy says, "but who says they ain't gonna be just the same as Grady?"

"They probably will be," Harry says mildly. "This is a criminal organization we're talking about, after all."

"Yeah, but…" Eggsy sighs. "Where does it stop?" He looks tired, no doubt from all those late nights at the restaurant. Harry knows Eggsy isn't sleeping well, either, although he has never again made the mistake of going to Eggsy's room when he hears those sounds of distress from behind that closed door. The one and only time he tried, it was painfully obvious that Eggsy didn't want him around. He had left then, taking his hurt feelings back to his own bedroom and vowing to never shame Eggsy like that again.

"I don't quite understand what you're asking," he says honestly.

Eggsy pauses to consider this, then he gives Harry a look that Harry can only describe as cool and calculating. "Okay," Eggsy says. "It's like you told me when you was first explainin' about Kingsman. Highest level of discretion and all that."

Harry nods and wonders where this is going. "Yes, exactly."

"But how does that work?" Eggsy insists. "I mean, what's to stop you from just randomly deciding that someone needs to die?"

It's a question with such an obvious answer that for a moment Harry thinks it's only meant to be rhetorical. Then he sees the way Eggsy is looking at him, so expectant, and he realizes that Eggsy is actually being serious.

"Nothing," he says.

"Jesus," Eggsy says.

"Why do you think we train you so thoroughly before granting a knighthood?" Harry says. "We have to make sure we only accept the right people as agents."

Eggsy shifts a little in the chair. "Did you?" He hesitates. "You know, did you ever just want to end someone just because you could, because they was a bad person?"

It's completely unprofessional and inappropriate, but Harry can't help feeling pleased about how the night is going. Despite the subject matter, they're finally talking, just the two of them. It's everything he's wanted since he found out they were being sent out on a mission together. If he plays his cards just right, hopefully this will be the first of many more conversations to come.

"Of course I have," he says calmly.

Eggsy's eyes grow wide. They are such a ridiculous shade of green, Harry thinks. He wants very much to see them looking up at him from his bed. "Fuck. Really?"

Harry looks at him. "I'm only human, Eggsy. You'll meet such people too as you spend more time out there."

"Might be I already have," Eggsy says darkly, and looks away.

Harry thinks of one Dean Anthony Baker, and the horrible things he heard on that day he recruited Eggsy, the day Eggsy proved both his loyalty and his courage. He rather suspects Eggsy is thinking of the same man. "That's what makes you Kingsman material. You have that power, yet you withhold it. You do the right thing."

Eggsy sits up a little at that, still unconsciously responding to any compliment Harry gives him. He notes that and files it away to be used shamelessly later. "Did anyone ever do it? Just go mental and start playing God?"

He doesn't want to lie, and even if he does, sooner or later Eggsy will find out the truth. "Yes," he admits. "Once or twice in our history."

"What did you do?" Eggsy asks. His nose is scrunched up a little, like he's not entirely sure he wants to hear the answer.

Harry thinks about a room of stinking heat, flies swarming over blood on the floor. He thinks about a stranger staring back at him instead of the friend he had once known. "We put a stop to it," he says.

"You fucking killed him," Eggsy says flatly.

Harry says nothing to this.

"Fuck," Eggsy breathes.

"For this reason among others, Kingsman does not encourage its agents to remain in the field for too long," Harry says. "It can lead to impaired judgment and a false sense of superiority." He finds it interesting how quickly he can fall back into this mode, the mentor to Eggsy's student. It's almost comforting in a way, this return to familiar ground.

But on the other hand, it takes them both back to a place he doesn't want. He doesn't want to be Eggsy's superior anymore, not on any level. He wants them to be equals. Only then can he dare to let himself hope that maybe one day they can be partners in every sense of the word.

And he makes up his mind right then and there that once they get back from this mission, once they are home in London, he's going to sit down with Eggsy and have a long-overdue talk. He's going to find out just what happened to change Eggsy's attitude toward him. And he's going to find out once and for all if there is any sense in this utterly mad hope he continues to harbor.

In the armchair, Eggsy is considering what he's just said, completely unaware of what Harry is really thinking. "You mean like being undercover."

Harry forces himself to focus on the conversation once more. "That too," he says.

"You ever do it?" Eggsy asks. "Go undercover?"

"Of course," Harry says, and does not point out that he's doing it now, in a sense. His character of the American businessman in Dublin is a charade he plays every night he has dinner at The Black Hat, pretending to study the menu while instead he carefully watches Donald Grady.

"What was the longest you ever did it?" Eggsy asks.

"Eight months," Harry says.

"Damn," Eggsy says, but without the admiration Harry would have expected after such a response. "What was that like?"

"Very lonely," Harry admits. "It's hard not to see a friendly face for that long."

"When was it?" Eggsy asks. His gaze is very direct. "What were you doing?"

"I was in Washington, D.C., at the Pentagon," Harry says. It was where he had learned to perfect his American accent. Twice he had met up with some of the American Kingsman agents, but they had not been comfortable meetings. Those agents had been older and not pleased that someone from the UK branch had infiltrated their government instead of one of their own. He had gone away from those sessions feeling more alienated and lonely than before.

"Oh yeah," Eggsy says. "Undercover spy ring and all."

Harry goes very still. He suddenly understands that he and Eggsy have talked about this before. He even knows when it must have happened – during that day he's missing, that gap in his memory. The questions Eggsy has been asking him are questions a trainee would ask, someone still unfamiliar with Kingsman and how agents operate.

He's being tested to see if he gives the same answers to those questions.

And then there is the fact that Eggsy knows about that mission of his at the Pentagon. He must have told Eggsy himself. No one else would have done that. Not even Merlin.

It's the newspaper articles, he thinks. That night at his house, that night he can't remember, Eggsy saw the headlines in his office and started asking about them.

The thought excites him enormously. Now at last he has some idea of what happened that night. Maybe he might even remember some of it, now that he knows _what_ he's supposed to be remembering. The doctors at the Kentucky hospital told him that this was possible, that sometimes a simple clue could be the key to unlocking more complex memories.

He very much hopes so.

"When did I tell you that?" he asks. It's a test of his own.

As expected, Eggsy passes with flying colors. He looks rather uncomfortable, but he is truthful. "The night before you left for Kentucky."

Harry nods. "So we _have_ had this conversation before."

Eggsy stares at him for a long, long moment. For an instant he looks almost sad, then his resolve – and his expression – firms up. "Not exactly," he says. He shifts in the chair, then abruptly stands up. "I should go, yeah?"

The disappointment is so keen Harry nearly asks him to stay, to please sit down, to keep talking to him. He feels like he came so close to something important tonight, something just within his grasp.

And he doesn't want their conversation to end. He wants to sit here all night, just talking with Eggsy and spending time with him. He wants Eggsy to feel comfortable around him, to be the friendly young man he used to be, once upon a time.

But he is first and foremost a gentleman, and so he must let Eggsy go, even though it kills him to do so. He can only hope that Eggsy will think back on their talk and not hold any of it against him. Maybe Eggsy will even decide that it's okay for them to talk like this, and come back for more.

Still, he can't let Eggsy go without at least trying. "I thought you had the night off," he says, the only protest he dares to make.

"I do," Eggsy says. "I'm just goin' for a walk." He shoves his hands in his pockets; his shoulders come up. It could not be more clear that he's uncomfortable, already mentally gone from the room even though he's still just standing in front of the armchair. " 'Sides, you need to be leaving soon, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry says, as Eggsy starts to walk away. "I do."

At the entrance to the room, Eggsy pauses, his back still to Harry. "Tomorrow night," he says. "We do this thing, and then we go home." He leaves, and Harry can only watch him go.

He failed the test, he realizes. And he'll probably never even know how or why.


	5. Chapter 5

It's ridiculously sunny out when Eggsy wakes up. He groans loudly and buries his face in his pillow. The very last thing he wants to do is get out of bed.

It took him forever to fall asleep last night. He kept going over that conversation with Harry in his head, over and over. He kept thinking about the look of stark horror on Harry's face when he saw the martini glasses.

It's been two weeks coming, but he's got to accept it now. He's failed. Completely, utterly failed.

He's tried so hard to do everything right. He's been the perfect Kingsman agent, doing his job and his duty to the best of his ability. He's always keen to discuss the mission and their plans with Harry, eager to show that he's doing his part. He's been careful not to presume too much, to make things personal when they're on the job. He's kept the nightmares a secret and not brought Harry running to his door again. He's even managed to rein in his desire to sit there and just stare at Harry, to touch him, to kiss him.

And he might as well have not even bothered. He's no closer now to having Harry in his life than he was before he left London.

He had thought the martinis were such a good idea. Even Roxy, the voice of caution these past few months, had said it was a good plan. Sit down with Harry, recreate that missing night, and try to jog his memory. Surely it would work. And even if it didn't make Harry remember anything, it would at least make him see that Eggsy could be more than just a fellow Kingsman.

Only it hadn't worked.

Eggsy groans again and squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't want to think about it.

The look on Harry's face when he saw the martinis is one he'll never forget. He should have known, should have realized Harry doesn't drink anymore. He should have known that for Harry the effects of V-Day are far more lasting than just the scar twisting across his forehead.

He'll never be over the shame and self-loathing he felt then.

But he had tried to pick up the pieces anyway. So they couldn't have martinis. They could still have a conversation, right? He could still ask the questions in the hopes of getting the right answers.

And he had. Sort of. Harry had answered him honestly, giving all the correct information – but with none of the emotion. There had been no willingness to share, no invitation to ask more questions. And when he had finally figured it out – that they had this conversation before – he hadn't been angry at being tricked, or curious about how it all went down the first time, or even sad that Eggsy felt like he had to resort to such a ruse. He hadn't even really reacted at all.

It had just been too much for Eggsy. He knows he should have stuck around, but hadn't been able to do it. He had really thought his plan would work. Watching it fall to pieces right in front of his eyes had been more than he could bear. And when Harry didn't try to stop him from leaving, when he barely said anything at all, that had been the final straw.

He's never going to get Harry back. Not the Harry he knew, at any rate. The Harry who showed off for him in The Black Prince like a preening peacock. The Harry who kissed him and said he was rejecting his advances for one night only. The Harry who wrote him that e-mail and said, _I know how I feel about you._

That Harry is gone forever.

Eggsy rolls onto his back and stares glumly up at the ceiling. At least today is their last day in Dublin. After tonight they can go home. He'll tell Merlin that there's nothing wrong with Harry, no reason Galahad can't be sent off on solo missions. It's even true – he's not once seen any signs that Harry can't keep up or carry his own weight. With any luck, Merlin will believe him. Hopefully they'll never be partnered up again.

It's better this way, he tells himself. For everyone.

****

After he showers, he packs up his things. When it's all over and Grady is dead, Harry will come back to the restaurant to pick him up. All their stuff will be in the boot of the car. They'll only need to get to the private airfield where their plane awaits, and then they can be on their way home.

Eggsy thinks about it as he eats his solitary breakfast; the house is empty around him and he doesn't know where Harry is. He misses Daisy and his mum. He wants to see Ryan and Jamal and hang out with them. It's harder these days because he's become so different while they haven't really changed at all, but they've been his mates for most of his life. He can't leave them behind now just because he wears a suit.

He pulls out his phone and sends Roxy a text. _Coming home tonight, see you soon?_

She replies, _Maybe. Not sure I'll still be around._

Fuck. Eggsy sighs. Of course she's being sent out again, right when he needs to see her the most.

 _Be careful_ , Roxy texts.

Eggsy taps at the screen. _Always am. You too._

 _Of course_ , she responds.

He pushes his phone away with a disconsolate groan. He finishes his breakfast quickly and rinses his plate in the sink. He pours himself another cup of coffee, and is just sipping at it when his phone chimes.

He goes back to the table and looks down at the screen. The message is from Harry.

_Everything still on for tonight?_

_Yes_ , he replies.

_And if we find ourselves in scenario 3?_

Eggsy pauses. Messages like this are always deliberately vague, so no one would be able to figure out what they were up to if the worst should happen and their phones fall into strange hands. But Eggsy knows what he's being asked. Scenario number three is if Grady's driver chooses this night to take that third road back to Grady's home, the one that doesn't allow Harry a good chance to activate the poison and take Grady out. It's a real possibility, given the random routes the driver takes throughout the city.

Of course, Eggsy thinks wryly, neither of them are accounting for a fourth scenario: that this might be one of those rare nights when Grady doesn't eat at The Black Hat.

Well, if that happens, they'll have no choice but to wait another day. But if it's the third option?

Fuck that. He's not staying here any longer than he has to. He just can't do it.

 _Figure something out_ , he writes. _It has to be tonight._

He watches the little dots on the screen, the sign that Harry is typing something. Those dots are there for an awfully long time, nowhere near long enough to justify his response.

_Understood._

Eggsy sighs and puts his phone away.

****

He's quiet that night at the restaurant. Usually he joins in the banter in the kitchen whenever he can, but tonight he keeps apart from it. A few of the other servers ask if he's feeling okay. Eggsy just shrugs and says he might be coming down with something. He doesn't like the lie. Most of the people who work here are pretty decent, although he suspects some of them wouldn't be near as nice if they heard him speaking in his normal accent.

Grady arrives at his usual time, a little bit after 8:30, and that's one worry about tonight laid to rest. Ten minutes later, Harry shows up. Eggsy happens to be at a table when Harry walks in, and he nearly pours water all over the tablecloth.

Maybe it's because tonight is the last night. Maybe it's because he's finally given up hope. Either way, he doesn't think Harry has ever looked this good. Dressed in a simple but elegant black suit, his hair perfectly styled, he's a thousand times more attractive than anyone else in the entire restaurant.

And there's not a fucking thing Eggsy can do about it. Now that he's forced himself to acknowledge the truth, he can't even let himself daydream anymore, or indulge in fantasy.

He takes a deep breath and backs away until he's got his back to the wall, invisible once more.

 _If you had just once looked at me the way you used to_ , he thinks. Just once is all it would have taken. Just something to give him hope, no matter how slim. Something to cling to.

Harry sits down and studies his menu. He doesn't even glance at Eggsy.

The evening slowly crawls forward. Eggsy does his job, retreats to his station, refills his water pitcher, does it all over again. Several times he has to pass Harry sitting there all alone; whenever he does, he keeps his gaze fixed ahead of him. He doesn't want to look, doesn't want to see Harry ignoring him.

On his second trip to Donald Grady's table, he sets his hand on the back of Grady's chair as he leans forward to refill the man's glass. In response to his physical proximity, Grady leans back a little. When he does, Eggsy lightly brushes his fingertip over the back of Grady's suit jacket.

The tiny tracker sticks in place. He glances at it long enough to make sure it's not going to fall off, then returns his gaze to what he's doing. He finishes pouring the water, straightens up, and moves discreetly away.

No one at Grady's table so much as acknowledges his existence.

"Tracker in place," Eggsy murmurs as he heads for his station by the wall.

"Very good," Harry says over the glasses.

And for the first time since their arrival, another voice chimes in over the feed. "Well done, Gawain."

Eggsy startles and almost drops his water pitcher. "Fuck," he breathes.

"What, did you really think I would let your first mission together be handled by anyone else?" Merlin sounds amused.

"I wasn't aware we needed handling," Harry says dryly. Eggsy glances his way and sees that he's got his water glass raised to his mouth to cover the movement of his lips.

"Individually, yes," Merlin replies. "Together?" He chuckles a little.

Eggsy clutches his water pitcher and says nothing. His heart is beating so fast he wouldn't be surprised if Merlin can hear it. It's supposed to be funny, he knows that. He's meant to laugh. But his throat feels tight; there's no way he can force any kind of laughter.

He glances at Harry again and sees that Harry too looks utterly unamused.

"Well," Merlin says, "good luck to you both."

"Thanks," Eggsy mutters.

There's not much to do after that. Whenever he goes by Grady's table he double checks to make sure the tracker is still in place. It's vital that the tiny object stays put. Without it, Harry won't know which route Grady's driver is taking. 

Halfway through the evening, he accidentally makes eye contact with Harry. He doesn't mean to. It just sort of happens. He looks away quickly, but not before he sees Harry's eyes glaze over, dismissing him out of hand.

It's a good thing that he's had so much practice over the years of not letting on how much something hurts. Half a lifetime with Dean comes to his aid just then, granting him a poker face as he stares blankly ahead at nothing.

The minutes lurch past. Grady finishes his meal and orders dessert and coffee. Just one dessert tonight, though; he must be in a hurry. Eggsy waits a little bit, then heads over to the bar where Carla, Grady's waitress for the evening, is getting his espresso.

"Here, let me," he says.

Carla looks up in surprise. She's been nice enough to Eggsy during his time here, but she's definitely one of those people who would change her attitude if she knew he wasn't who he claimed to be. "What are you talking about?"

"I got this," Eggsy says, and takes the coffee from her. "You just go on and take a break, yeah?" He tips her a wink.

"Ha, yeah right," Carla scoffs. She gives him a harried smile. "Thanks, though." She rushes off to the kitchen.

Eggsy catches the bartender looking at him; the guy nods and grins, encouraging him.

As if he could ever be interested in someone else. Eggsy nods back though, like he's all into it.

No one sees him pour the poison into Grady's coffee. He gives it a stir, then carefully arranges the spoon on the saucer. No one even looks at him as he makes his way through the dining room and over to Grady's table. He sets the espresso on the table and only the bodyguard glances up at him. Nobody thanks him.

He moves back to his station by the wall, and that's it, then. His job on this mission is done. "Package delivered," he says.

"Perfect," Merlin says in his ear.

Harry says nothing. He's paying his bill. In front of him, most of his dinner sits untouched on his plate. That's unusual. Maybe it's nerves, this being his first mission since getting shot in the head. He doesn't look up at Eggsy.

From the corner of his eye Eggsy watches Harry stand up and put on his coat. For a single second he indulges himself in one last fantasy, imagining that he and Harry have just gone to dinner together at this posh restaurant. They've shared a great meal and some good wine, and now they're going to go back to the place they currently call home. On the way back they'll glance at each other often and share secret little smiles. His hand will end up on Harry's thigh, while Harry lightly strokes the back of his neck, fingers toying with his hair. And when they get home, they'll walk up the front steps together, then stop while he fits his key in the lock, and Harry will lean down and –-

"I'm exiting the premises," Harry says over the glasses feed.

Eggsy blinks, jolted back to reality. He watches Harry walk past Donald Grady's table without even glancing at the man. The long black coat Harry is wearing just seems to add to his graceful stride, making Eggsy want to run after him.

And what would happen if he did? If he followed Harry out of the restaurant and grabbed him by the shoulders of that black coat? If he spun Harry around and shoved him up against the plate-glass window and kissed him breathless?

"The signal from the tracker is strong," Merlin says. "You should have no trouble following him. Gawain? How are you doing?"

Eggsy closes his eyes for a long moment. He's going fucking crazy, is what he's doing.

"I'm fine," he says. He turns a bit toward the wall so no one can see his lips moving. "Just let me do my job, bruv."

Merlin doesn't chastise him for the nickname, or remind him that he's Eggsy's boss now, even if he has decided to just be Merlin again for this one night. It's Harry who says brusquely, "He's not in a position to speak, for fuck's sake. Let him be."

Harry's defensive anger surprises him, and fills him with unexpected warmth. Maybe Harry doesn't want him anymore – if he ever did – but at least he's still looking out for him.

"Very well," Merlin says rather stiffly, and Eggsy guesses that when they get back to London, Harry's in for an earful.

Well, he's done his part. It's all up to Harry now.

He hopes it all goes as smoothly as Harry keeps insisting it will. He hopes they make it out of here without arousing any suspicions or getting caught.

He hopes Harry will be okay.

****

Harry sits in his car in the restaurant car park and waits for Grady to leave. If he's timed it right – and he knows he has – he shouldn't have to wait more than ten minutes. He'll watch the signal from the tracker Eggsy placed on Grady, and once he knows which route the driver is taking, he'll leave.

He's not concerned about getting there first, despite Grady having such a head start. He's been busy the past two weeks, learning the streets of Dublin, memorizing maps. He knows how to get to his chosen location in the quickest, most efficient way possible; Eggsy isn't the only one with keen driving skills.

Once he reaches his destination, he will park the car, turn off the lights, and wait once again. On each route he's chosen his spots well – one stretch of road lets him leave the car behind a stone wall, the other has enough trees to screen the car from the road. Either way, he will be safely out of sight when he activates the poison in Grady's system.

Half a mile later – at most – the driver will pull over. At that point Harry will be on foot, already approaching the vehicle. He knows exactly where the driver will pull over on each road, seeking a place wide enough to let him move the car safely out of the way of any oncoming traffic.

After that, two shots to the head will take care of Grady's driver and bodyguard. He re-qualified on the shooting range on his fourth day back at Kingsman, while he was still sporting a thick bandage on his forehead. He's not worried about missing.

Grady will be dead by then, the poison having done its work. There will be nothing further for him to do. Just walk back to his car and come back here to the restaurant to pick up Eggsy.

Harry sighs quietly.

Eggsy.

He has no idea what he's going to do about Eggsy. After last night he feels more strongly than ever that they need to talk, but now he finds he's rather dreading that conversation instead of looking forward to it. It does not promise to go well.

But he needs to know why things are so different between them now. He needs to know what happened to the young man who used to smile at him so readily. He has to know what happened on that day he can't remember, those hours missing from his memory.

He's starting to very much fear that _he_ is the reason for the change in Eggsy. Something he said.

Or something he did.

"Galahad." His old friend's voice speaks in his ear. Not Arthur tonight, but Merlin once again. "Target is headed your way." And yes, there on the screen set in the car's dashboard, he watches as the blinking dot signifying Donald Grady finally begins to move.

Harry nods, knowing Merlin will see the movement through his glasses.

It's time.

****

It's the perfect night for an assassination, chilly without being too cold, cloudy enough that the world is black and still outside the circle of illumination created by artificial lights such car headlights. In his black coat, all the better to blend into the night, Harry waits for death with a poison pen in his hand.

He's had a lot of fun over the years with this pen. Some people complain that poison is a woman's weapon, but Harry has always considered it more of a gentleman's weapon. It's not messy, for one thing, and it allows him to keep a relatively safe distance from his target, a vital part of any Kingsman mission, given the secrecy involving everything they do.

But mostly Harry likes using poison because it's fast and it's efficient. He's never known it to fail. Other methods might _seem_ infallible, but he's living proof that even something as certain as a bullet to the head doesn't always work.

So the pen it is, as he alternates between checking the road and watching the dot of Grady's tracker approach his location. Tonight the driver is using the second route to Grady's house, the road that Harry himself would have chosen if all this had been up to him. If he were remotely superstitious he would call this a good omen. Instead he just feels a quiet satisfaction at how neatly everything is falling into place.

The signal dot gets closer. Harry primes the pen and counts down.

In his ear, Eggsy murmurs a response to someone who must have thanked him for topping off their water glass. The sound of that beloved voice momentarily breaks his concentration, and he flips the lever earlier than he planned.

For a terrible second he thinks it won't have worked, that Grady's car was out of range. It flies past in a wash of headlights. Harry watches it go by and waits breathlessly for whatever will happen next.

Up ahead, brake lights flash bright red. The car swerves.

Harry jumps out of his car and breaks into a run.

Adrenaline surges through him. He's missed this more than he realized. He runs through the night, coat buttoned up so no glimpse of white shirt can betray him in the dark. His stride is sure and confident even in the black of night – he's run this stretch of road both in the daylight and in the dark until he knows every inch of it. The air is cool on his face. He feels young and strong again.

He wishes Eggsy was here with him.

Grady's driver has pulled over exactly where Harry knew he would. As he runs up, light-footed and barely breathing hard, he draws his pistol.

Both front doors of the car are open. If Eggsy were here, they would split up and cover both sides of the vehicle. But Eggsy isn't here. There's only himself. So Harry keeps going.

Light from the interior of the car spills out into the night. There's no hiding in it, and Harry doesn't even try. He steps up to the driver's side door and spots his quarry. The driver is twisted around in his seat, cursing helplessly as Donald Grady chokes on the poison in his body. He sees Harry run up and starts to reach for his own weapon, but it's already too late. Harry shoots him in the head and he slumps over the steering wheel.

In the back seat, Grady stares at Harry with wide-eyed desperation. He can measure his lifespan in seconds now.

Grady's bodyguard is nowhere in sight. Harry no sooner realizes this than he hears the rushing sound of someone coming up behind him. He starts to spin around, and heavy arms suddenly strike his shoulders. Something is dropped over his head, then the wire is pulled taut about his throat, and he understands.

The bodyguard jerks the garrote brutally tight; Harry is almost pulled off his feet, his body flush against the other man's.

For a split second his eyes meet Donald Grady's. Then Grady is dead, eyes glazed over, seeing nothing.

Harry doesn't waste time pulling at the wire. He snaps his head back and rams his elbow into the bodyguard's stomach at the same time. The back of his skull smashes into the bodyguard's nose, breaking it with a sound like a twig being snapped in half.

The bodyguard grunts in pain, and the wire about his neck loosens a little. Not much, but enough to allow him to take a burning breath. More importantly, the twin blows cause the bodyguard to double over somewhat, putting some of his weight on Harry's back.

That's all he needs. It's an easy thing then to flip the man over his head and on down to the ground. For an agonizing second the garrote pulls tighter, then the man crashes onto his back, and Harry can breathe again.

With his first breath, he shoots the bodyguard twice.

All told, it lasts ten seconds.

He stands beside the car, breathing deep. "Galahad?" Merlin's voice is cautious. He saw the whole thing, of course, but he's aware of Eggsy on the feed, having only audio to clue him in.

"Targets are down," Harry says calmly. He doesn't think about Eggsy back at the restaurant, or wonder what Eggsy made of the brief but brutal sounds of violence. Hot blood trickles down his throat. He reaches beneath his coat and holsters his pistol. "Mission achieved."

After a slight pause, Merlin says, "Good job, the both of you. Retrieve Gawain at the scheduled time and I'll see you at HQ tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," Eggsy says in his ear.

"Yes," Harry agrees.

He retrieves the garrote from the dead man and shoves it in his coat pocket, then uses his knee to shut the car doors. Long before morning, someone will have called the police about the car being parked here. The bodies will be found. The police will investigate, but probably not very hard. They certainly won't miss Donald Grady.

Harry starts walking back to his car. He reaches up to touch the cut on his throat. In the darkness he can barely see the blood on his fingertips, but he can feel it, warm and slick.

"Harry."

It's Merlin, and if he's using names, that means he's on a private channel. One Eggsy can't hear.

"It's fine," he says.

"What was that?" Merlin says.

"I handled it," he says. Up ahead he can see approaching headlights; he moves further off the road so he won't be seen.

"That was a rookie mistake," Merlin says. "Not something I'd expect from you."

He is silent.

"Harry, you know this has to be entered into the report." Merlin's voice is heavy with reluctance. "If you can't—"

Harry stops walking. "I am fine," he says. "Donald Grady is dead. The men who were going to sell him the smart bombs will not deal with anyone else. Therefore there is no danger of the bombs being sold to this lot. The mission is a success, and frankly I don't see why you're so upset."

"Because you just displayed a serious lapse of judgment," Merlin says, as matter-of-fact as ever. "And because you were shot in the head just a few months ago."

"Oh, for God's sake," Harry snaps. "I am not experiencing cognitive deficiencies, if that's what you're not-so-subtly hinting at. There's nothing wrong with me or my brain."

Merlin inhales, the sound audible over the glasses feed. "Then tell me what happened back there."

He wants to, but he can't. What could he say? _I was distracted because I was thinking about Eggsy, and wishing he was here with me._

"Not now," he says. "I need to get back to Eggsy. We'll talk tomorrow." It's pathetic and he knows it. He's just buying time, giving himself a chance to come up with a plausible excuse. Anything to keep Merlin from using this against him and preventing him from going back out in the field again.

If he can't have Eggsy, if he can't have Kingsman, he'll have nothing at all.

"When you get back," Merlin says, and it's not a question.

"Yes," Harry says, aware that he's speaking to Arthur now, not his old friend.

"Very well," comes the response. "Until tomorrow."

He doesn't bother to answer. He just starts walking again.

****

Once he's back in the car, he informs Eggsy that he's on his way.

"Okay," Eggsy murmurs.

Harry pictures him at the restaurant, devastatingly handsome even in a simple white dress shirt and black tie. Night after night a parade of well-dressed people have come and gone at The Black Hat, but not a single one of them has ever outshone Eggsy. The white half-apron he wears gives the unfortunate impression of a thickened waist and makes him appear shorter, but even then he's still beautiful.

He wishes he could have told Eggsy that. They could have laughed about it these past couple weeks, maybe even joked that Kingsman should add aprons to their standard-issue suits effective immediately.

He pulls onto the road, returning the way he came. Everything he and Eggsy brought to Dublin is neatly packed away and stored in the boot of the car. The safe house has been cleaned and restocked with items like bottled water, non-perishable food, and toilet paper. Anything a Kingsman agent could need if forced to stay there with no advance notice. There are no loose ends to be tied up, nothing remaining to do.

Harry gingerly touches the cut on his neck. He'll be glad to leave Dublin behind, he thinks. He's ready to go home.

****

When he gets to The Black Hat, he has to wait a little bit for Eggsy. Over the glasses feed he can hear the noise of a restaurant winding down for the night. Eggsy makes jokes and small talk with his co-workers, but it's obvious to Harry that his heart isn't in it. Possibly he's become fond of them and is finding it hard to mentally say good-bye to them. Leaving can sometimes be the hardest part of an undercover assignment.

It's nearly midnight when Eggsy walks out. He looks much better without the apron, and he's taken his tie off. It swings from his hand as he crosses the car park, then gets in beside Harry.

"Everything okay?" Eggsy asks.

"We're good," Harry says.

They don't speak again.

The tension is thick between them as he drives toward the private airfield where the Kingsman plane awaits. Harry tries to think of a way to initiate conversation, but every time he thinks he has it, the silence holds him back. Clearly Eggsy doesn't want to talk right now. He needs to respect that.

The airfield is located just outside the city, away from the actual airport; legally speaking they were never here, so their exit from Ireland must be as covert as their arrival. Harry parks the car and pops the boot. Without a word, Eggsy gets out and starts pulling out suitcases and garment bags. 

Harry sits behind the wheel for a few moments. On the way here he respected Eggsy's obvious wish for silence, but he's only willing to concede so much. They need to _talk_. He has half a mind to ambush Eggsy on the flight back, ask his questions and demand answers -- even though such a tactic wouldn't be fair to Eggsy.

Which is why he's seriously considering it.

Loaded down, Eggsy heads for the plane. Harry finally gets out and gathers up the last of their bags, closes the boot, and locks the car. Someone will retrieve it in a day or two; he doesn't know the particulars, nor does he care.

He follows Eggsy up the stairs and onto the plane. Their pilot is standing there to greet them, crisp in his uniform; the same man flew Harry out here two weeks ago. He frowns when he sees Harry, and one hand drifts upward. "Sir? Are you all right?"

Harry freezes. Fuck. He completely forgot.

Ahead of him, Eggsy is just turning around, having already stowed the luggage and chosen his seat. He looks at Harry, seeing him in full light for the first time since they met up at the restaurant. He sees the blood, and his eyes grow huge in his face. "Harry? What the _fuck?_ "

"It's nothing," Harry says. "I'm fine." Now that he's been reminded of it, he can feel the cut stinging on his neck. The skin of his throat feels stiff with dried blood.

Eggsy stares at him in wide-eyed horror. He's very pale. In those first few moments, he looks utterly terrified.

The sight of his fear cuts through Harry worse than the garrote did. Stupidly enough, he feels guilty. He never even thought what it would do to Eggsy to see him bloodied like this.

"Eggsy, I—"

"You fucking _prick_!" Eggsy seethes. "You fucking… You just go off and…" Fury sparks in his eyes and his pallor now comes from anger. One of his hands balls into a fist; he doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it. "You didn't even fucking _think_ , did you?"

The depth of his anger completely blindsides Harry. He never saw this coming, never imagined Eggsy would have this kind of reaction.

Eggsy shakes his head. "That's it," he says. His voice is quiet now, as though he's speaking more to himself than anything else. "I'm done. I'm fucking done."

Harry stands very still.

"I can't do this," Eggsy says. He looks at Harry, and he doesn't appear angry anymore. He's been wiped of all emotion. There is nothing on his face. Nothing in his eyes.

"When we get back," Eggsy says, "I'm tellin' Merlin that I can't work with you no more. I'm done."

They stare at each other for a moment. Then Eggsy deliberately turns his back and heads down the aisle to the last available seat on the plane, by the cleverly hidden niche that holds weapons and gear. He sits down and glowers at the back of the seat in front of him.

Harry doesn't move right away. There's a faint rushing sound in his ears. The plane dips and sways gently around him, which is strange because he's positive they aren't in the air yet.

"Sir?" The pilot speaks gently.

"Yes," Harry said blindly. He has no idea what the man just said, what he might be agreeing to.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Slowly he makes his way forward and sits down in the seat nearest the cockpit. He fumbles at the seat belt across his lap, can't make the connection work, and lets it fall.

The pilot moves past him and closes the door to the cockpit. Within minutes they are airborne, headed for London.


	6. Chapter 6

The plane arrives back at HQ just after two in the morning. Eggsy is the first to disembark, carrying his suitcases in both hands. He nods stiffly to the attendant waiting in the hangar, just barely remembering his manners, then walks quickly to the exit.

Behind him, he hears Harry's footsteps on the stairs leading from the plane. The absolute last thing he wants is for Harry to call after him and ask if they can talk. He starts walking faster.

He doesn't look back.

At this hour, no one expects him to debrief or attend any meetings. The mission was a success and there's no reason to be summoned to Arthur's office. He's free to leave, to go anywhere he likes.

So Eggsy goes home.

He lets himself in as quietly as possible. The house is still and dark, his mum and sister upstairs sleeping. Even JB is up there, no doubt in Daisy's room keeping her company.

He goes up to his room and drops his suitcases on the floor just inside the door. He pulls out his phone and sends a swift message. _Are you up?_

He waits a bit, but there is no answer. Roxy is either asleep, or somewhere halfway across the globe, hard at work.

Moving on automatic pilot, Eggsy gets ready for bed. He showers, brushes his teeth, puts on a pair of clean boxers. He returns to his bedroom and slumps down on the edge of the bed. For a little while he just sits there, doing his best to keep his mind empty. 

His best isn't good enough, apparently. Every time he blinks he sees Harry standing there, blood all over his throat.

The memory is enough to send helpless emotion racing through him all over again. That initial burst of terror, the frozen panic in realizing he had come so close to losing Harry a second time. The wash of rage when he understood that Harry wasn't hurt badly, that he was expected to dismiss the incident as though nothing had happened.

What an absolute crock of shit.

He hadn't meant to yell and curse like that. But between the blinding terror and the sudden weak-kneed relief that Harry was okay, it had somehow come out as anger. _How dare you do this to me? How dare you put me through this again?_ Not being able to put it into words had only made him angrier.

As if Kentucky hadn't been bad enough

He does feel bad now though for calling Harry a prick. But he's still too unsettled to take back the anger. He's entitled to it, isn't he? After everything?

Eggsy glances at his phone – no response from Roxy yet – and slowly lies back on the bed, feet still on the floor.

He needs to stop. A lot of people _actually_ lost someone on V-Day. Percival lost both his parents. Roxy lost an aunt, and three days later, the uncle who killed her, when he took his own life out of grief and guilt.

And Harry was never his to begin with.

Maybe that's his problem, he thinks. He's been looking at Harry all this time with the idea that they had something, once upon a time.

Only they didn't. And he's got to accept that.

But it's hard, it's so fucking hard. Especially when the words Harry said keep chasing themselves around his brain. Words Harry wrote in that damn e-mail Eggsy can't get out of his head.

_I know how I feel about you._

Except apparently Harry _doesn't_ know. Apparently he must have only started to feel those things, whatever the fuck they were, on that night when they sat together in Harry's living room getting drunk off martinis. Otherwise he would still be feeling them now, he would still remember them.

Eggsy could almost fool himself into believing that it had been nothing more than the alcohol, that Harry had only kissed him back on a drunken whim. Except he's pretty sure Harry never actually got drunk that night. And then there's the fact that the e-mail was written the next day, long after Harry had sobered up.

So what the hell does it all mean?

Eggsy groans. He can't think about it anymore. He just can't. He's already made himself half-mental trying to deal with it all.

He glances at his phone. Still nothing from Roxy. That's good. Means she's asleep, like he should be.

Without thinking, he picks up the phone. He opens up his e-mail. The message is still there in his inbox. Words he knows by heart.

Eggsy hesitates. The backs of his eyes start to burn. But it's fine. He's fine.

He's definitely not crying as he deletes the e-mail from Harry.

****

Harry moves methodically through his cold, empty house. He unpacks his things, throwing most of the clothes in a pile to be brought to the Kingsman dry cleaners. He takes a shower and brushes his teeth, then tends to the cut on his neck. He puts on his pajamas and crawls into bed, and congratulates himself on managing to get ready without once meeting his own gaze in the mirror.

The stillness of the house settles in around him. Once upon a time Eggsy was here too, asleep in the bed down the hall. What would he have done if Harry had gone to him in the middle of the night?

What if he _had_ gone to Eggsy in the middle of the night?

Maybe that's the whole problem.

More and more he believes this to be true. _Something_ happened on that night, something between him and Eggsy. And whatever it was, it turned Eggsy from his friend into someone who is little more than a civil stranger, someone who wants nothing more to do with him.

He breathes out slowly. He will drive himself mad if he keeps thinking about it. There's nothing he can do right now. Tomorrow he will find Eggsy and they will sit down and talk. He will probably not like what he hears, but it's well past time he heard it.

He feels somewhat better for making the decision. Taking steps toward action has always been his preferred method of confronting an issue. This is no different, really.

He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes. He's had a headache for the past couple hours, a steady dull pain that doesn't seem like it's going away any time soon. On top of that, he's just plain worn out after the long day; even that short burst of violence beside Grady's car was more than he's had to deal with in months. He'll definitely be late to HQ tomorrow.

But it's still a long time before he falls asleep.

****

In his dream he sits alone in the church, wondering what on earth he is doing here. He's never been religious, never sought out churches before for sanctuary or any kind of prayer. The room itself is not large, and seems even smaller with so many rows of pews and chairs crammed inside. There are many windows, and it should be light in here, but the air seems leaden with a strange darkness Harry can only really see out of the corner of his eye.

He looks around and spots the round black eye of a security camera set high in the wall, near the ceiling. Someone, somewhere, is watching him. He doesn't know who or why, but he doesn't like it.

He is suddenly very afraid.

He turns around and sets one hand on the back of the pew in front of him, ready to leave. But then he freezes, because he is no longer alone.

The entire church is full of worshipers. They sit on every pew, on every chair. Behind a simple altar at the head of the room, the pastor shouts a message of hate, arms raised to the heavens.

"Charming sermon," Merlin's voice says in his ear. Because he is wearing his glasses and his Kingsman suit. He has every bit of gear he could possibly need except for the Rainmaker, because it's sunny out and the weather forecast calls for more sun, and he would draw attention to himself if he came with an umbrella. Not that he doesn't already stand out in this crowd.

Merlin says something else, but Harry can't hear it for a sudden squeal of feedback. It doesn't come from the glasses though, or the camera set high in the wall. It drills right through his skull, setting off a throbbing headache just above his left eye.

He has to get out of here.

"Where ya going?" The lady next to him looks at him with defiance, and he realizes that he spoke to her, asking her to let him pass. She's just a normal woman, mousy hair, mousy skirt, but the hate shining in her eyes is enough to fill him with a hazy terror.

"What's your problem?" the lady demands, and suddenly Harry has had enough.

He leans in close, not wanting anyone else to hear what he has to say. He speaks, and he can't hear his own voice for the piercing wail of feedback that rises all around him. The air in the church grows still darker, thin strands of black ribbon winding through the people sitting here, twisting their way from the pastor's straining fingertips.

The lady sits in stunned shock as Harry gets up. He almost stumbles, almost falls. His heart is hammering in his chest. The pain in his head is unreal; he feels wetness on his forehead and reaches up to touch. 

His fingertips come away red with blood.

Shocked, he stares at the blood for a long second. Then abruptly he becomes aware that the sermon of hatred has stopped. The people in the church aren't looking at the pastor anymore. They're all looking at _him._

Slowly he draws his weapon. He has to stop them, he realizes. He has to kill them all.

Before they kill him.

He shoots the mousy lady first. She falls to the floor in a spray of blood and brains. And all around him, the church erupts in violence.

The air is so dark now Harry can barely see. He moves on instinct, on pure reflex. He fires the gun empty, reloads, empties it again. He uses his fists, broken pew railings, the lighter in his pocket. An axe, other people's guns, the knife that someone stabs him with. Anything he can get his hands on.

He doesn't see their faces as they fall. They have ceased to be human beings. They are reduced to mission objectives, targets that must be eliminated.

He hates them all.

After an eternity, the violence around him thins out. There are fewer targets now. He whirls around and finds himself facing the pastor. He acts without thinking, impaling the man's head on a jagged bit of railing. He staggers away, searching for the next target, but no one comes at him.

There is no one left, he realizes.

He stands there for a few moments, getting his equilibrium back. The air grows lighter, the strands of darkness lifting so he can see again. He can _breathe_ again.

And Harry looks around and he wants to scream.

They're all dead. Just like he wanted. And he did this. He killed them.

He has to get out of here. He can't stay in this place of death. He climbs over a pew and heads for the exit. His head is pounding and now that he isn't gripped by bloodlust, he feels afraid again. He knows he has to – but he doesn't want to go outside.

The moment he walks through the doors, he knows he was right to be afraid.

He understands now. He sees them standing there, Valentine and Gazelle, and he knows exactly what is coming. There is no escaping it.

And this time he won't survive.

Still, he tries. He thinks he can maybe talk his way out of it. Maybe make a play for Valentine's gun. But the blood on his forehead is dripping into his eyes, blinding him, and the pain in his head is enough to make him sick, and he's too slow, his body weighed down with terror and the burning regret of knowing that the one time it really mattered, he wasn't good enough.

Now, when he has something –- _someone_ -– to go back to, he is never going home again.

"Well, this ain't that kind of movie," Valentine says.

 _Please_ , Harry thinks desperately. _Please let me live. Let me get back to him._

And then he's falling.

Already dead.

****

When he wakes up, he doesn't know it at first. The pain in his head is so bad that he is certain he's still dreaming, lying there on the ground with a fractured skull. He whips his hands up to clutch at his head and groans deeply. His stomach heaves, and for a moment he is terrified he's going to be sick.

Then from the darkness inside his head, he sees a flash of light. The interior of the church, white walls spattered with blood, his hands dripping with red, bodies tumbled at his feet.

It's too much. Harry rolls over just far enough to hang his head over the edge of the bed, and throws up. He hears himself make a sound, a low, agonized groan, and he's ashamed, but he can't help it. His head fucking _hurts._

He lies very still for a long time, trying to breathe through the pain, the way he was taught so long ago. Trying even harder not to think.

After a while the pain subsides into more tolerable levels. He becomes aware of the foul smell beneath him, and the awkward way he's stretched out across the bed. Grimacing, he sits up.

For a time that's as far as he's able to go. He sits there with his head hanging, willing himself to calm down. Images flash inside his head, pulsing in time with the pain throbbing through his skull with every heartbeat. He sees the church, the blood on the floor, the hatred on their faces as they came at him. He shudders again and he thinks he might be sick a second time, but he manages to hang on, and at last his stomach settles.

Moving carefully, he climbs out of bed and shuffles toward the bathroom. He hesitates before flipping the light switch, then does it anyway. The sudden glare of bright light adds to his headache and makes him recoil and hiss sharply.

It takes a little bit of time for his eyes to adjust to the light. When he can see again, he makes himself look at his reflection in the mirror. The face he sees is pale and drawn and in need of a shave. Above his left eye, the scar is a jagged line across his forehead, ugly as hell.

Harry stares at it. One of the doctors had told him that he was a candidate for plastic surgery, that they could minimize the size of the scar, although they couldn't remove it completely. He had thanked her politely, but at the time he hadn't wanted to contemplate yet another surgery and hospital stay; he had only wanted to go home.

His reflection blurs and wavers, becomes not a face but something inhuman, sinister. He blinks, and it's just his face again.

He remembers how cold it was that day in Kentucky, and the pure blue sky. It had been far colder inside that church, though.

Harry turns away from the mirror. He doesn't want to look at himself anymore, at the face that was the last thing so many innocent people saw before they died.

Before he killed them.

He doesn't want to think about the church at all, and what happened in there. Or how it felt to have all control stripped away – and not even care. Because that's the horrible truth about the South Glade Mission Church massacre. Valentine had made him into a killer, and he hadn't given a fuck. He had only known the need to kill and kill again.

It was only after, when he came back to himself, that the horror had set in.

And hadn't a part of him known, even as he walked outside, how it was all going to end?

But he had gone out there anyway. What else could he have done? Valentine had to be stopped and there was still a chance that he could do it. He had never run from his duty in all his life and he was not about to start then. Not after what Valentine did to him.

He remembers the terrified bravado of his last words: _Sounds good to me._ The bitter knowledge that he was about to die. The hope that someone else would take down Valentine, that his last transmission would be used to put a halt to the man's mad scheme.

And last, in that most final of moments, even after the gunshot, the regret for all that was now lost and all that would never be. And fleetingly, a face, young and beautiful, full of love and adoration.

Eggsy.

He knows now what happened after Eggsy's test on the train tracks. He remembers the two of them stopping for coffee on the way here, to help Eggsy get over the last of the grogginess from the knock-out drug in his system. He remembers Eggsy walking around the house, shaking his head in wonder over all the shit on the walls. He remembers their conversation in his office, and the hopeless look on Eggsy's face.

_That's me fucked then. It's like Charlie said. I'm just a pleb._

He had been so damn smug, so utterly confident in Eggsy's chances that he hadn't even blinked. _Nonsense. Being a gentleman has nothing to do with the circumstances of one's birth. Being a gentleman is something one learns._

Instead of helping, his response had only seemed to make Eggsy feel worse. _Yeah but how?_

He had known a moment's pause then. He remembers thinking quite clearly that if he answered, if he gave Eggsy what he was looking for, there would be no turning back. Helping Eggsy would be taking them both down a road he wasn't at all sure he was ready for.

_All right, first lesson. You should have asked me before you took a seat._

Eggsy had looked at him with such dismay then, bracing himself to hear about yet another of his many failures.

_Second lesson. How to make a proper martini._

It was some kind of madness that had made him say it. But Eggsy had just lit up. _Yes, Harry!_ Smiling at him with such happiness.

He remembers everything that came after. The martini lessons, the quiet pleasure of sitting there in his living room, just talking with Eggsy for hours. It had been a very long time since he had found any enjoyment from such a simple thing, and he hadn't wanted the evening to end.

On that night he had finally accepted the truth that he had been avoiding for weeks. That he loved Eggsy, that he wanted the evening to last forever because he wanted _all_ of this to last forever. He wanted to take everything he could and never let go. It was selfish and unprofessional and desperately wrong – and yet he hadn't cared.

And it had seemed that maybe Eggsy felt the same way. Giving him such looks, shifting in his chair, the sexual tension between them thick enough to cut with a blade. He hadn't been sure how much of that was due to the alcohol Eggsy had consumed on top of the day's harrowing adventures, but he had hoped it was real.

Oh, he had hoped.

He remembers Eggsy walking toward him, and knowing, _knowing_ , what was going to happen next.

_I think I'm gonna kiss you now._

And he had known another one of those moments of choice. When he saw two clear paths ahead of them, each leading in very separate directions.

But there had only been one way he could respond to Eggsy's advance. Eggsy wasn't a Kingsman yet, he was still just a candidate. Harry could not – would not – do anything to jeopardize Eggsy's chances. If Eggsy failed (and Harry was rather concerned about the dog test), it would not be because of something Harry did.

So he had said no. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever done, but he had done it. God help him, he had even thought that he was handling it well. 

And Eggsy, brilliant and beautiful, had seen right through him. Called him out on his bullshit and kissed him anyway. And who knows where the night might have ended, except Eggsy had made some kind of noise in the middle of the kiss and forced Harry out of that amazing dream where he actually got to keep Eggsy, and back to reality.

He had tried to return them both to some semblance of normality, but Eggsy hadn't been willing to let it go so easily. So he had extracted a promise from Harry.

_We'll discuss this later, after you become Lancelot._

_That a promise?_

_Yes. It's a promise._

Except he hadn't kept that promise. The next morning had been delightful, but then they had run into Valentine in the shop, and Eggsy had gone off to fail to shoot his dog. And the next time they met they had said hateful, ugly words to each other. Then he had left for Kentucky and the church, and Valentine had shot him.

And he knows now, doesn't he, why Eggsy is so changed around him. He knows all too well.

_Can't you see that everything I've done has been about trying to repay him?_

In one fell swoop he had completely undone it all. He had undermined Eggsy's worth and proved that he didn't care anything about Eggsy himself, only assuaging his own guilt.

It's a wonder Eggsy can stand to be around him at all.

And then he remembers. Eggsy _can't_ stand it. His final words to Harry in Dublin are proof enough of that. _When we get back, I'm telling Merlin that I can't work with you no more. I'm done._

With a shaking hand, Harry touches the scar above his eye. He traces the line as it zigzags across his skin.

For the first time he wonders if it would have been better if he had died on that day in Kentucky.

In disgust he drops his hand back to his side. He washes his face and hands, swallows two paracetamol for his headache, then returns to the bedroom. The smell is revolting, and he breathes through his mouth as he walks out, intending to get cleaning products from the kitchen cabinet.

As he's passing the office, he freezes.

It's the sight of the laptop that does it, sparking another memory. Something he's forgotten until just now.

Calmly, as though his stomach isn't suddenly tied in knots, Harry walks inside the office, slapping at the light switch as he goes in. He yanks open the laptop and waits in a fever of impatience for it to boot up.

He remembers sitting on the Kingsman plane, typing and deleting and typing again, striving to say just the right words in just the right tone. Hoping he was doing the right thing.

And yes, there it is. Sitting so innocently in his sent items.

_Dear Eggsy,_

_I wanted to apologize to you for losing my temper this morning. I said things I now regret. I think we both did…_

The feeling rushes out of his body; he doesn't sit down so much as he sort of falls into the chair behind the desk. Dear God. So he had sent it after all. He hadn't remembered doing so until just now.

Did Eggsy read this e-mail? Or did he delete it when he got it, too full of anger and hurt to want to read anything Harry had to say?

_I know how I feel about you, and if you still feel the same way about me, then I think it's safe to say we'll be all right._

For over two months Eggsy has been living with these words in his head. Maybe.

 _Thank you for bringing some warmth into my life._

Slowly he closes the laptop. The words of the e-mail seem to hang in the air in front of him, though. They taunt him with their utter lunacy. As though any apology could suffice for the horrible things he said before Kentucky.

_Can't you see that everything I've done has been about trying to repay him?_

So many things are explained now. Why Eggsy has distanced himself, why he's become the cool and professional young man he is now. Enough time has passed since V-Day that the immediate hurt has no doubt cooled off, but that kind of pain has a way of lingering. And Eggsy would never shame him or hurt him by bringing up their argument or the humiliating contents of this e-mail while he couldn't remember either one. Because Eggsy is by far the better man.

And now he knows for certain that there can never be anything between them. Not when he killed any chance they might have had with just a handful of words.

He's lost Eggsy for good – and he never even really had him at all.

****

Morning rolls around far too soon for Eggsy's liking. The best thing he can say for it is that Daisy's happy shriek when she discovers him asleep only gives him a mild headache, versus a full-blown one.

His mum's greeting is more subdued. She's doing better these days, staying sober (or claiming she is) even though she still hasn't filed for divorce from Dean yet. Eggsy hasn't given up on her, though. She just needs more time is all.

He checks his phone – still nothing from Roxy, which is mildly worrying – and skips breakfast, murmuring a bald-faced lie about stopping for something along the way. His mum just nods and lets him go. She's never been overly fussy about that kind of stuff, even when he was a kid who could have used a little fussing every now and then.

He's dressed in a grey suit and out the door by 9:00, which isn't too bad considering what time he got in last night. Or this morning. Whatever. Outside it's a typical London day, dull and cloudy, which fits his mood perfectly. Still, he manages to smile brightly as he turns around and waves good-bye to Daisy as she stands in the doorway and watches him go.

By the time he reaches the shop on Savile Row it's started to drizzle. Eggsy pops open the Rainmaker and walks a little bit faster. He never used to worry about being caught out in the rain, but that was before he started wearing bulletproof bespoke suits every day. He already looks like hell, anyway, too pale and tired; he doesn't need to add "looking like a drowned rat" to that list.

Andrew nods good morning to him when he enters the shop. Eggsy nods back and heads straight for the fitting room and the lift that will take him to the shuttle.

He has absolutely no clue what he's going to say to Merlin – fuck, _Arthur_ , why can't he remember that? – today. Part of him would like to just lay it all out there and be honest, tell him what (almost) happened between him and Harry and appeal to Merlin's heart. Except he's never met anyone more staunchly single than Merlin. And besides, he's supposed to be professional and all now; talking about his "feelings" won't win him any support.

No, he's got to be objective. Calm. Rational. Praise Harry enough to make it clear that he doesn't need anyone to shadow him, but not go overboard. Maybe that'll be enough. Merlin will agree with him that Harry doesn't need supervision, and he can go back to what he was doing before, running missions solo and slowly cracking up on all his own.

Eggsy sighs. Yeah. Sounds bloody fantastic.

The shuttle arrives at HQ and Eggsy gets out. The hangar is eerily quiet today, no one hurrying to fuel a plane or car, just a lone mechanic stretched out on his back beneath a Bentley. He lingers for a moment, watching the man work, then tells himself to get his arse in gear, and gets going again.

He finds Merlin – _Arthur_ , oh fuck it, he's just always going to be Merlin in Eggsy's mind – in the same sitting room where he first learned that he would be going on a mission with Harry. There's tea ready, but Eggsy waves it off. "I'm good, thanks."

"So tell me," Merlin says. "How did it go?"

Eggsy tells him. He's perfectly honest about all the prep work they did, all those hours Harry spent surveiling Donald Grady and his crew, all those late nights working at the restaurant, learning what he could about the man. Most of the work – and the credit – goes to Harry. "He was always out working," he says.

Merlin frowns just a little. "Would you say he pushed himself too hard?"

"Nah," Eggsy says. He shakes his head. "Only did what needed to be done."

Merlin considers this. He's got his hands steepled together in front of his chest, and he's wearing his old grey jumper, not a suit. He looks a little bit tired, like he didn't sleep well.

Eggsy can sympathize.

"What about any lapses in judgment?" Merlin asks. "Problem-solving issues? Difficulty prioritizing tasks?"

Eggsy stares at him, trying not to be horrified. "What the fuck are you on about?" he demands. "I didn't see none of that. What exactly are you tryin' to say?"

Merlin unclasps his hands and holds one up as a peace offering. "It's okay, Eggsy. I—"

"You make it sound like he's got brain damage or summat!" Eggsy exclaims.

"No," Merlin says firmly. "All the scans showed that was not the case."

"Then what?" He's still reeling. What the _fuck_ kinds of questions are those? Is this the kind of thing he was supposed to be looking out for the whole time they were in Dublin?

"Then nothing," Merlin says, and his tone warns Eggsy that he's pushing the limits of his patience. He might not be Arthur in Eggsy's head, but he is Arthur in all the ways that matter. "I only needed to be sure."

With an effort, Eggsy makes himself calm down. "Well, then you can be sure. 'Cause there's nothin' wrong with Harry. He don't need anyone to baby-sit him. So you can un-partner us, or whatever it is you need to do."

The corners of Merlin's mouth turn down. "Yes," he says dryly. "Harry may not need a partner. However, _you_ still do."

Eggsy's jaw drops. Fucking hell. He totally forgot this was one of the reasons Merlin had assigned them a joint mission in the first place. Rookie agent and all, in need of proper guidance from someone more seasoned and experienced.

_Fuck._

He's about to protest when there's a perfunctory knock at the door. Before Merlin can call out, the door opens and Harry walks in.

Across the room, their eyes meet. Eggsy clenches his jaw and refuses to look away, but Harry, fuck, Harry actually flinches.

"Galahad," Merlin says.

Harry looks at Merlin, turning his head to do so, giving Eggsy an excellent view of the scar above his brow. "Arthur." He sounds so stiff and formal he might snap in half at any moment. "I apologize. I wasn't aware Gawain was still in with you."

"It's all right," Merlin says. "Come in. What I have to say next actually pertains to you as well."

Harry hesitates. If Merlin and Eggsy look tired, he looks absolutely exhausted. Totally put together as always, of course, but the truth is there in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. "Very well," he says. He comes all the way inside and shuts the door behind him.

"Let's move this over here." Merlin gestures to the conference table set up at the far end of the room, away from the cozy fireplace where JB once looked up at Eggsy so innocently, unaware that his master was supposed to shoot him.

The table is smaller than the one at the shop, where Arthur usually presides. Eggsy sits down and tries not to panic. He just knows that they're about to be assigned another mission together.

But it's fine. Everything will be fine. He'll just talk to Merlin afterward and calmly explain why he can't go out there again with Harry.

And then he might as well turn in his pistol and his glasses, because what kind of Kingsman is he if he can't even do his fucking job?

"You both did well in Dublin," Merlin says. He gives them a faint smile. "Which is no more than what I expected."

Eggsy nods. Across from him Harry does the same. He's in grey too today, a darker shade than the one Eggsy is wearing. The cut on his throat has scabbed over. Eggsy still can't look at it for more than a second or two without seeing the blood that had been there last night. He doesn't even know how it happened, he realizes. Not that it matters. Whatever it was, Harry took care of it.

Still. The fact that it happened at all, that he came so close to losing Harry all over again…

He shifts in his chair, trying to push those awful thoughts out of his head. Harry glances at him, then looks away. The tension between them is so obvious he can't believe Merlin doesn't pick up on it.

"However," Merlin says, "while you were in Dublin, something has come to our attention from one of your previous missions." He looks at Eggsy.

Immediately Eggsy sits up straighter. Dread coils thick in his stomach. He knows it's stupid, Merlin isn't going to hit him like Dean would've already done, but he still can't help it. He's fucked up, he's fucked up _bad_ , and now it's time to pay the price. The only question is how much it's going to hurt.

"As you may or may not be aware, our clean-up crews and analysts have been going over the debris from your destruction of Valentine's factories. Making sure everything is accounted for. And unfortunately they've discovered a discrepancy from your last mission."

Eggsy swallows hard. The room seems to be shrinking around him. He has a horrible feeling that he knows exactly what Merlin is about to tell him.

"We found notes on a new device," Merlin says. "A prototype Valentine had authorized just before his death. It's a much smaller device than the one he used at the church." He gives Harry a rather apologetic look.

Harry doesn't say anything. His jaw is clenched and he is very pale.

"This prototype," Merlin says, "is handheld, designed for smaller groups or individuals at close range. And it doesn't require one of Valentine's SIM cards to broadcast its signal – it _is_ the broadcast device."

Harry looks like he's going to be sick. It's suddenly hard to breathe; Eggsy has to fight not to yank at his collar. He knows, oh fuck, he knows what's coming. It's inevitable.

"That device is now missing," Merlin says. "I need you to go find it, and destroy it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seriously crap at guessing how much longer a story will be, but I do believe we are just over halfway at this point.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left feedback so far. I appreciate it all so much! You can also find me on [Tumblr](http://www.missbeckywrites.tumblr.com).


	7. Chapter 7

"That device is now missing," Merlin says. "I need you to go find it, and destroy it."

Eggsy wants to crawl into a hole and never come out again. He's done some pretty shitty things in his life and made some truly spectacular mistakes, but none of that compares to finding out that he's made it possible for someone else to repeat V-Day. It's bad enough he let the first one happen, those millions of deaths on his conscience. And now it can happen all over again. All because he fucked up. He lost Valentine's mind control device. Now someone else is going to have their head taken over and be forced to kill a bunch of innocent people.

He swallows hard. He has no fucking clue how he's going to actually accomplish his new mission, but it's clear enough what he has to do next. So he nods and he says, "Yeah, all right," and he accepts the job. Because this is his mess, he created it, and now he's got to clean it up.

"Just one thing," he adds. "How the hell am I supposed to find it?"

"You do your research," Merlin says, not unkindly. "I would start by asking yourself who stands to gain the most from putting Valentine's plan into effect, and go from there."

Eggsy nods again. Makes sense. After a beat when he realizes Merlin is looking at him expectantly, he stands up. "I'll just go to the library then, yeah?"

"All our archives are at your disposal," Merlin says. "And I'll forward a copy of the analyst's report."

Eggsy hesitates. He's not sure what use that report will be. But he's supposed to agree, so he does. "Okay."

He glances once at Harry. He can't help it. Even now when he's a Kingsman with almost a dozen missions under his belt, he has that instinctive need to see what Harry thinks.

What Harry thinks, though, is apparently a secret. His gaze is downcast, his expression unreadable. He still looks rattled by Merlin's revelation about Valentine's shiny new mind control device; not that Eggsy can blame him for it. For once he's actually grateful Harry can't remember anything about V-Day. This would be so much worse if Harry knew what he had done in that church.

He holds onto that thought as he makes his way through the mansion, headed for the library. He's nearly there when his mobile chimes. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees a message from Roxy. _At work. What's up?_

That means she's still on a mission somewhere. And though he would love to call her and tell her the whole awful story about Dublin, he knows he can't. Not now.

 _Nothing much_ , he writes. _See u when u get back._

Roxy's reply is quick, confirming his theory that she isn't in a good place to talk right now. _Ok._

Eggsy sighs and puts his phone away. When she gets back he'll tell her everything. He'll ask her for advice. Roxy is good at that. She always knows what to do.

But Roxy can't help him with this, his latest fuckup in a long string of fuckups. He's in this one alone.

He lets himself into the library and then pauses, getting his bearings. Despite the name, it's not actually a library; there are no towering shelves of books, no prim-mouthed librarians in cardigans glaring at anyone who dares to speak above a whisper. Probably it used to be, though, back in the day. Before computers, before technology.

Nowadays the library is a large room with dark drapes pulled back from the windows, a fireplace at one end, and plenty of space for people to work at. There are loads of wooden desks and conference tables, even some cubicles like Eggsy would expect to see in an office building, designed to give the user a little bit of privacy. There are computers and tablets on every surface, some with keyboards displaying kanji, Cyrillic letters, or the flowing script of Arabic. In the far corner stands a table laid out with coffee, tea, and a small plate of biscuits. Judging from what's sitting on the plate, though, nobody has been in here yet today.

A quick glance around reveals that Eggsy does in fact have the place to himself. And that's good, because he doesn't want anyone to see what he's about to do.

Roxy was the one to show him how to search for the video feeds from past missions. It's all out there, years and years of recordings from the glasses of various Kingsman agents. Supposedly it's all saved so any agent can review it later for research purposes. At any time Eggsy could witness Pellinore stagger drunkenly through the halls of the Kremlin, or watch the view change rapidly as Bors's glasses go sailing over a bridge in the Philippines after a little old lady kicked him in the face.

If circumstances were different he would probably love doing this, sit here during his free time (haha, what free time) and call up the footage from some of Harry's old missions. It would give him some thoughts on how to handle certain situations, along with providing more insight into the man himself.

But now he wants nothing to do with those videos. And the one he wants to see least of all is one that hopefully doesn't even exist.

He chooses a cubicle that gives him an unrestricted view of the door, then starts his search. He's thorough, using every search parameter he can think of, from the location name to the date to Harry's name, both proper and code. Over and again he finds nothing. And at last he's able to conclude that Merlin kept his promise: there is no file on any Kingsman server related to South Glade Mission Church.

Eggsy breathes out in relief and sits back in his chair. He has no idea if Harry has already tried this, if he's gone looking for the video from Kentucky to see if it would jog his memory. Even if he hasn't done it before, he might try it now that the news from Merlin has forced him to think about what happened at the church.

If he does decide to look, though, he won't find anything. Eggsy can be thankful for that much at least.

He clears his search and takes a deep breath. Right. He's got to focus now. He's got another madman to kill. 

And this time he can't fail.

****

"I'm going with him," Harry says.

"I thought you might," Merlin says.

For a long moment they just look at each other. They've been colleagues and friends long enough that sometimes no words are necessary.

"I don't suppose there's any talking you out of it," Merlin says, and it's not a question.

Just to be sure, though, Harry says firmly, "None."

"You do know you're the last person on Earth who should go out there, don't you?" Merlin says.

Harry refuses to look away. They've never talked about what happened in Kentucky, never even alluded to it until now. When he first returned to work he had dutifully gone to a few sessions with a therapist, but there really hadn't been much to talk about. Yes, he knew he had done terrible things. No, he couldn't remember them. Yes, thank you, he was recovering nicely from being shot in the head. Are we done here?

But that was all. No one else at Kingsman has asked him about it, and certainly not Merlin. Not that Harry would have expected anything different. They had learned long ago that some things are best not discussed. Ever.

"What about Eggsy?" he asks.

"He can handle it," Merlin responds.

He appreciates the confidence in Eggsy, but at the same time, it rubs him the wrong way. "He should never have been sent out there alone in the first place."

"I know," Merlin says heavily, and for a moment he is Arthur, bearing the weight of all Kingsman UK on his shoulders. "I wish it could have been different."

Harry says nothing. Despite his scolding, he knows perfectly well that Merlin had no choice in the matter. With himself and Bors in hospital, they had all of three active agents after V-Day –- and two of them were rookies.

"Speaking of which," Merlin says, because he knows full well what Harry is thinking, "I'm preparing to open up proposals for Kay's position soon. Did you have someone in mind?"

He doesn't, of course, and Merlin must surely know that. The young man he'd originally been considering for Lancelot's position has since moved to Australia. For all Harry knows, he's not even alive now.

"Only Kay?" he asks.

"One at a time," Merlin says.

Harry nods.

After a moment Merlin says carefully, "I understand this mission won't be easy for either of you. If you—"

"I remember," Harry says.

Merlin halts in mid-sentence. Behind his glasses, his eyes widen. "I'm sorry?"

"I remember," Harry repeats. "The church. Valentine."

His friend looks stunned. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday," he says. Which isn't true, technically. His dream happened early this morning; he didn't even try to get back to sleep afterward. Instead he had cleaned up the foul mess on his bedroom floor, then spent a couple hours sitting on the couch holding a mug of coffee that he never even drank from.

Merlin still looks a bit dazed, like he's trying to work out what to say next. "Are you all right?"

"It wasn't the most pleasant of revelations," he says, which is certainly true. He had known on a purely theoretical level that what he did in the church was heinous, but to actually remember the details – all those faces stretched in hatred – is something else altogether. "But I am fine. I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can," Merlin says. He sounds sympathetic, but he's remembering himself apparently, the steel of Arthur re-entering his voice. "But you realize that this means I can't in good conscience send you on this mission."

"You can't expect Eggsy to go alone," Harry snaps. He will not be gainsaid in this, even if it means he has to resort to physical force to get his way.

"I was actually thinking of sending Lancelot with him," Merlin says.

"Absolutely not," Harry replies firmly.

"She's more than capable," Merlin says with just enough defensiveness that Harry makes note of it. That kind of reaction is unusual, something to examine later, when there's time.

"I'm sure she is perfectly capable," he says, a bit more conciliatory now. "Or she wouldn't be Lancelot. And I don't appreciate you twisting my words to imply otherwise."

Merlin gazes back at him, totally unrepentant.

"But I will not have it any other way," Harry continues. "I am going with Eggsy. No one else."

Merlin considers this for a long moment. Finally he says, "Before I say yes, answer me one thing. Is remembering what happened at the church what distracted you at Grady's car last night?"

Harry hesitates. He has to stop himself from reaching up to touch the cut on his neck. Merlin has just offered him a way out, an explanation for his poor performance. He would even be believed. But pride wins out. He refuses to blame his lapse on something as monumental as recovering his memory. "No," he says.

"Then what did?" Merlin asks.

"Eggsy," Harry has to admit.

Merlin blinks in surprise. Clearly this was the last answer he expected. "Eggsy?"

Harry takes a breath, gathering his courage. He came here this morning planning to meet with Merlin and discuss the Dublin mission. Having shown up late, he hadn't thought that Eggsy would still be in here; Eggsy must have arrived late himself. Not surprising, given the hour they had returned to London.

He hadn't thought much past that, however, figuring that he would let the conversation itself dictate how much he told his old friend. He had known that he would have to admit he remembered the church and Valentine, but beyond that he hadn't planned.

He knows now though that he can't tell Merlin the truth. Not about Eggsy.

So instead he approaches it from an angle. "Have you… That is, in the time you've known Eggsy, has he ever given you a reason to think that he thinks about me in anything other than a professional manner?"

Merlin sits back in his chair, obviously shocked. Yet there's a glint of humor in his eyes as he says, "Are you asking me if Eggsy has a crush on you?"

Somewhat aggrieved by the sight of his friend's amusement, Harry says, "I am asking you if Eggsy has ever given you any reason—"

"—to think if he, yes, yes," Merlin says, chiming in with him and then overriding him. "I get it."

Harry makes himself sit still and not repeat his question.

Merlin considers the question. He casts his gaze upward as he searches his memory. Then at last he says, "He's very fond of you. He worries about you."

Harry nods and holds his breath.

"But no," Merlin says. "I don't think so."

It's strange how the shattering of his heart can be so silent. That he can sit here, so calm and composed, and his oldest friend can't see him falling to pieces.

"Eggsy considers you a friend," Merlin says. "But I would say nothing more." His gaze sharpens. "Why? Has he done something to make you think he feels otherwise?"

"No," Harry says. He smiles at his friend. "Nothing at all."

****

He's so caught up in the work that he actually misses it when the door opens and someone enters the library. It's not until the newcomer is halfway to his cubicle that Eggsy even realizes he's not alone anymore.

Some spy he is.

He looks up. "Hey."

Harry stops a few feet away. He's holding a single sheet of paper folded in half. "How's the research coming?"

Eggsy shrugs. "Think I found our man." He's nowhere near as casually confident as he sounds, though. There are so many possibilities, a depressingly high number of people who stand to benefit from the culling Valentine wanted.

"That's good." Harry smiles a little. He seems recovered from the morning's shock, but he still looks tired. "I hope you don't mind, I did a little research myself."

Eggsy blinks in surprise. Has he really been here that long? A quick glance at his watch confirms it, though – he's been in here for almost four hours.

He shifts in his chair, feeling the passage of time now that he's been made aware of it. His back is stiff and his arse is going numb. Behind the glasses his eyes feel gritty. He doesn't want to be pissed off by what Harry said, but he can't help it – he is. "Yeah, sorry," he says, "but why would you do that? I got this."

"I know you do," Harry says. "I only thought I would help."

"Then where were you four hours ago?" Eggsy retorts.

Harry bristles. For half a second Eggsy expects him to say, _A little gratitude would be nice._ Instead he looks around, grabs a chair from a nearby table and sets it down right where he was standing. He sits and crosses his legs, ever the proper gentleman. "Four hours ago I was speaking to Arthur," he says. "I'm coming with you."

It's not entirely unexpected news, seeing as how he failed earlier to make Merlin see that he didn't need to be partnered up with Harry anymore. Strangely enough, though, Eggsy's first reaction isn't glum acceptance. It's a rush of furious, protective anger.

"What the fuck?! He can't fucking do that!" he exclaims.

Harry looks completely taken aback.

Eggsy glares at his laptop. He can't believe Merlin would send Harry out there to face the exact same thing that turned him into a remorseless killing machine in that church. He had thought the two men were friends. What the _fuck_ could possibly make Merlin think this was a good idea?

Harry takes a deep breath. "I realize you don't want me to join you on this—"

"You're damn right I don't," Eggsy says vehemently to his laptop. He still can't get over it. What is he supposed to do if being around that device triggers Harry into remembering what happened in the church? Because if it's going to happen, it'll happen at the worst possible time, of course. And if Harry is injured – or worse – because he's caught off guard by the sudden rush of returning memories, Eggsy will never forgive either Merlin _or_ himself.

He tries very hard not to think about what will happen if Harry remembers everything – not just the church.

"Well, then I apologize," Harry says, and he's gone all cold and distant. "But I _am_ coming with you."

Eggsy looks up at that. He realizes all at once what he's done, and why Harry is angry. And he can't let it go, can't let Harry think that he's just been rejected – even if that is exactly what Eggsy was trying to do this morning when he was talking with Merlin.

"It ain't like that," he says. Fucking hell, he can't stand that look in Harry's eyes, the hurt that he's put there with his thoughtless words.

"You needn't explain yourself," Harry says, and now he's coolly polite, the proper gentleman refusing to take offense and get upset about something.

(Eggsy wishes he would, though. Maybe it would help.)

"Yeah, but I want to," he insists. He looks at Harry, as earnest as he's ever been. "I don't want you comin' with me because I don't think it's right. You shouldn't have to deal with that shit again." He shakes his head. "Once was bad enough."

"Eggsy…" Harry stares at him. He looks surprised and grateful, and a little bit bewildered, like he doesn't know what to say. 

"That's all," he says. "I know you can deal with it. I just don't think you should have to."

"I… Thank you," Harry murmurs. He looks away.

Silence stretches between them, uncomfortable and tense. Eggsy thinks of that night in Harry's house, sitting there sipping martinis, and the easy way the silence had enfolded them in between stories. On that night it hadn't been something that needed to be filled or crowded out with empty words, but a warm feeling of companionship.

Now, though, he hurries to find something to say, something that will break the silence.

Harry beats him to it, though. "I thought we might compare our results," he says. He unfolds the piece of paper he's holding and looks up again. "See if we agree on who our first lead might be."

So they're back to business. Disappointment settles in Eggsy's chest like a heavy weight. But what did he expect, he tells himself.

In spite of himself some of his thoughts must show on his face, because Harry lowers the paper back to his lap. "Eggsy," he says, "I know you don't want to work with me anymore. I understand. And I know this is difficult for you."

Something inside him breaks a little then. He can't go on like this, he just can't. If he's going to have to be Harry's partner and spend time with him, then he's got to know. One way or another, he has to know where things stand between them.

He's about to stand up, to just say fuck it and cross the space between them, lean down and take Harry's face in his hands and kiss him. He's going to do it. He really is.

But Harry is still talking. "But we have been assigned this mission, and that has to be our priority now. Whatever…personal feelings we might have on the matter cannot be allowed to interfere with the job."

It's his tone that does it, takes all of Eggsy's good intentions and stomps them flat. Harry sounds so firm and determined, like he won't allow even one slip up. Like he's some fucking emotionless robot who's never let himself be ruled by his feelings in anything more important than whether or not to add a slice of lemon to his tea.

Like Eggsy is just a child playing at being an adult.

"Oh, what," he snaps, "you think I can't handle it?"

"I think you're not exactly off to a good start," Harry says mildly. The paper in his hand crinkles a little as his grip on it tightens.

"Fuck you," Eggsy says, and he wants it to be this furious declaration of independence. _Fuck you Harry Hart, I'm done with you._

Instead it just comes out sounding small and pitiful.

Harry draws in a deep breath. Slowly he stands up. "I'll leave this here," he says. He sets the piece of paper he was holding down on the chair where he was just sitting. He hesitates, then he turns around and he walks away.

Eggsy watches him go through burning eyes. Part of him wants to snatch up the piece of paper and childishly crumple it into a ball. Maybe even throw it at the library doors that are just now closing behind Harry as he leaves.

But of course he won't, and he knows it. He's got a job to do, as Harry so cruelly reminded him. Thanks to him, someone out there has one of Valentine's mind control devices. Someone who's probably just waiting for a chance to use it. And if he doesn't stop that person, he'll have more innocent deaths on his conscience.

It might have been cruel, but Harry was right. He's got a job to do. And he has to do it with Harry, whether he likes it or not. The best thing to do now is just get through it as quickly and efficiently as possible.

"Fuck," he mutters. " _Fuck_."

He gets up and grabs the paper Harry left for him. It's a printout from a personnel file, the exact same thing Eggsy spent most of his morning looking at. He had sifted through thousands of records, looking up former employees of the once-powerful Valentine Corporation, currently a bankrupt, dissolved mess of red tape and legal nightmares.

He hadn't printed out anything himself, but now he doesn't need to. The information on this page is very familiar. The name and photograph at the top are ones he's seen before.

Eggsy goes back to his cubicle and looks at the screen of his laptop. Looks at the exact same name, the exact same face, the exact same file.

The exact same target.

****

"Who is he?" Merlin asks.

"Dmitri Ivanov," Eggsy says. "An alias, I think, but if it is, it's a good one. I can't find any reference to his real name."

Merlin looks at Harry, who picks up the narrative smoothly, as though they had planned this presentation instead of simply meeting out in the hall just five minutes ago. "He was Valentine's head of R & D. Hand-picked from a pool of candidates when he impressed Valentine with his knowledge about climate change. Apparently he was the one who suggested bringing Professor Arnold on board."

"And we all know how that turned out," Merlin murmurs.

"Six weeks after V-Day he used a fake passport to travel to the factory where the prototype was made," Harry says. 

Eggsy tenses up. He had burned that factory to the ground just like all the others. It had been the last one on the list, the last job he had before going home. He had been cracking up then, out in the field too long. He knows it now, but it's no excuse for his sloppy work, for letting the device slip through his hands.

"We believe he stole the prototype then," Harry says. He pauses for a beat. "Five days before Eggsy destroyed the building."

Eggsy stares at him. They haven't discussed any of this, haven't talked about it at all, except to agree that Ivanov is their man. And yet here is Harry, absolving him of the blame. Saying on the record that it wasn't his failure to secure the prototype, that it had already been long gone by the time he had arrived on the scene with his explosives.

His throat feels tight; he couldn't say anything now even if he wanted to. He wants so badly to believe this is true. 

But he knows in his heart that Harry is wrong. This _is_ his fault.

Merlin makes a small humming noise. "If that's the case then he has a bigger head start than we thought. According to our report, though, the device was still in the building when Eggsy detonated those explosives."

"How do you know that?" Harry asks.

"Because it had to be signed for when anyone took it out of the lab," Merlin says. "Even with the damage, some of the network servers remained intact, and we were able to pull up those records. At the time of Eggsy's…visit…the prototype hadn't been removed in over three weeks. No one signed for it."

At this Eggsy finds his voice. "So he didn't sign for it. That don't prove anything. He was stealin' it, why the hell would he put his name to that?"

"Possibly," Merlin allows. "What else makes you believe Ivanov is your man?"

Harry looks over at him. It's his turn now.

Eggsy says, "He had a thing for Gazelle."

A short silence falls. Merlin looks like he isn't sure if Eggsy is taking the piss or not. At last he clears his throat delicately. "A thing?"

"Yeah," Eggsy says. "He was in love with her. Or he fancied he was." And he can't fucking help it -- he glances at Harry.

Fortunately Harry is studiously avoiding his gaze and is looking at Merlin.

But Merlin sees, and his eyes narrow a little. Eggsy feels hot blood rush to his face, and he hastily looks away.

It might sound stupid, but he knows he's right. Ivanov's crush on Gazelle was what convinced him that here was his target. Where Harry's research had focused on facts, Eggsy had seen the e-mails between them and he had just known. Ivanov wasn't doing this for Valentine. He was doing it for Gazelle.

He knows it in his heart. Because he knows how it feels to think you'll never get the chance to tell someone how profoundly they changed your life. You'll never get to thank them or make them proud of you, or get to tell them how you really feel about them.

"So he's doing all this as an homage to Gazelle?" Merlin sounds skeptical.

"That is Gawain's theory," Harry says, making it clear that he doesn't agree. But then he surprises Eggsy by adding, "It's all his. He saw it, not me."

Eggsy doesn't say anything. So Harry _does_ agree with him. And is giving him the credit in front of Merlin. It's a peace offering maybe, a way of asking forgiveness for being such an insufferable prick in the library.

Eggsy decides to forgive him. It's not like he has much choice, anyway. "You woulda figured it out, too." He smiles.

Harry looks at him for a long moment, then he smiles back.

"So where is Ivanov now?" Merlin asks.

"Venice," Harry says. "Where we believe he is planning to meet with Victor Shaw in order to get the funding he needs."

"Funding for what?" Merlin asks, and it's obvious that he knows he isn't going to like the answer. Nor should he, seeing as how Shaw is known to be responsible for bankrolling at least half a dozen high-profile criminal operations scattered across Europe.

"Make more mind control devices," Eggsy says. "You know, end the world and all, this one's for you, Gazelle."

Merlin takes a deep breath. "Go," he says. "Stop him. Destroy that device."

They're dismissed. Eggsy stands up, as does Harry. They look at each other, and for a brief moment Eggsy lets himself feel a tiny little thrill. He's finally doing what he wanted to do from his very first day of Kingsman training.

He's off to save the world with Harry.

****

Within an hour they're en route to Italy.

Their preparations are minimal. Eggsy has no idea what Harry does, but for his part he calls his mum and tells her he's heading off on another business trip. She sounds resigned as she tells him to have fun and be careful. It's the same thing she always tells him when he leaves her again. He promises he will and asks her to give Daisy a kiss for him, then hangs up.

They're only planning to be gone one day, so he only packs one other suit. Weapons and gear are picked up on their way to the hangar, and that's pretty much it. They know where they're going and what they need to do. Everything else they can make up as they go along.

The same pilot who flew them home from Dublin greets them as they enter the hangar. Eggsy nods a greeting to him (he thinks the guy's name is Duncan, but he's not sure), climbs on board the plane, and stows his luggage. The pilot runs through the pre-flight check, and then they're off.

Eggsy deliberately doesn't look at Harry sitting in the row opposite him. He slouches in his seat and stares out the window as England falls away beneath him and they rise above the clouds into blue sky.

He knows he should study the blueprints of the hotel where Ivanov is staying, and work out the best way to approach their target. They don't know yet the range of the mind control device (and _fuck_ Eggsy hates thinking of it like that), which makes confronting Ivanov in public a very bad idea. The hotel itself might be doable, except that anyone on the floors above and below, or in the rooms on either side of Ivanov's, might be affected as well.

They need to get him alone.

He knows that, but it's surface knowledge only. His mind isn't really thinking about the problem or how to handle it.

No, what he's actually thinking is far simpler. He's thinking that tomorrow, when all this is done, when Ivanov is in custody and Valentine's device is destroyed, he's going to ask Harry to join him for coffee and they are going to sit their arses down and talk. Once and for all, they're going to clear the air. It's like Harry said to him before leaving for Kentucky: _I'll sort this mess out when I get back._

They're only three months late, but it's high time they sorted their shit out.

He feels better for making the decision, even though he's pretty sure he's only setting himself up for a broken heart. But what the fuck, his heart is already broken. He might as well at least know for sure. And then he can finally move on, finally accept the truth he seems so hell-bent on denying.

"Eggsy?"

He sighs. So much for hoping Harry would take the hint and not try to talk to him during the flight.

"Eggsy, I know you're—"

No. Oh hell no. "Don't," he says, cutting Harry off before he can get the rest of the sentence out. He sits up straighter and glares over at Harry. "Okay? Can you just not?"

Harry blinks innocently. As if that shit's gonna work on Eggsy. "Can I just not what?"

"I know what you're gonna say," he says. "And believe me, I already know."

"I'm pretty sure in fact that you don't," Harry says. The words are clipped, but he doesn't actually seem angry.

Eggsy folds his arms mutinously. "Yeah? So go on then," he says. He knows he sounds surly and ugly, and he simply doesn't give a shit. "Tell me."

"Last night," Harry says, "I remembered what happened at South Glade Mission Church."

Eggsy's jaw drops. His hands sag down to his lap. 

He feels ablaze with sudden light. Wild hope springs to life in his chest. He can't believe it. It's finally happened.

Harry remembers.

Scenarios unfold in his mind's eye, each one more amazing than the last. He sees them meeting in the aisle of the plane, kissing each other breathless. He sees them on the floor, joining the Mile High Club. He sees them running lightly alongside a canal in Venice, covering each other's back without a care in the world. He sees them in Harry's house, sitting there in the living room, sipping martinis and smiling at each other.

Then he sees the haunted look in Harry's eyes, and he forgets to be happy. Fuck, what the fuck is he doing, only thinking about himself? It has to be pure torture for Harry to suddenly find himself faced with the terrible truth of what he did in that church.

No wonder he was so rattled this morning when Merlin told them about the missing mind control device.

Eggsy swallows hard and sits up straight, trying to act as though he wasn't just behaving like a complete arsehole. "You okay?" 

Harry nods. "Yes, thank you." He can't quite meet Eggsy's eyes, though. "I can't say it was a pleasant experience, but I am glad it happened."

He shouldn't ask his next question, should wait for Harry to volunteer -- but he has to ask. He has to know.

"Is that the only thing you remembered?" He can hear the hope in his voice, knows it's impossible for Harry not to pick up on it.

Harry looks at him. There's half a second when Eggsy's heart leaps and he forgets how to breathe. Then Harry says, "Yes. Only the church and what happened with Valentine."

Eggsy closes his eyes. It's either that or let Harry see the sudden tears burning there.

"I'm very sorry, Eggsy," Harry says quietly. "Hopefully with time the rest of my memories will return."

Eggsy just nods.

Harry doesn't say anything else. Eggsy sits very still. And after a long while he feels safe enough in opening his eyes. He's calm again, poised, the perfect gentleman.

Outside his little window, the sky is a beautiful shade of blue. It will be night by the time they land in Venice. He's suddenly very tired, but he really hopes Harry doesn't want to get a hotel room and stay overnight. He just wants to find Ivanov and finish this.

He exhales loudly.

"I apologize, Eggsy," Harry starts to say. "I wish--"

"It ain't always about you," Eggsy says curtly, even though it is. It always is.

Harry catches himself on the verge of what's probably a furious retort. Eggsy kind of wishes he wouldn't. Maybe a good old-fashioned fight is what they need.

"You're thinking about Ivanov," Harry suggests. "And the mission."

"What else would I be thinking about?" Eggsy says, because damn if he's going to admit anything else out loud.

Harry blinks. He looks almost hurt. Then he says, "I do hope you aren't beating yourself up over it."

Eggsy stares at him. Harry just dropped two bombshells on him, first remembering and then not, and if he doesn't want to drive himself crazy thinking about all that and what it means, that only leaves him with the mission to think about, and _that_ is definitely gonna send him round the bend. And he knows Harry means well, he _knows_ that, but he doesn't _want_ to be absolved of his guilt. At this point it's the only honest thing he's got left. 

He's tired of living his life based on a lie (once upon a time he and Harry had something).

He's tired of everything.

"Well guess what," he snaps. "I _do_ blame myself. Because this _is_ my fault. I fucked up. You think I don't know that?"

Harry looks shocked. "How on earth can you think this is your fault?"

Eggsy turns away toward the window again. "Valentine was my responsibility. And I fucked it up."

"You should never have been sent to face him alone," Harry says, and _now_ he sounds angry. 

Like this isn't something Eggsy doesn't think about every single fucking day. Like he doesn't imagine what it could have been like if he had gone into that bunker with Harry by his side instead of thinking Harry was lying dead on the ground with a bullet in his brain. "Well, there wasn't much choice, was there? And then the world went to shit after V-Day and that's my fault too and—"

Harry interrupts him, his eyes flashing. "It is _not_ your fault, Eggsy."

"Then whose fault is it, Harry?" he yells. "I was the one who was supposed to stop him. All I had to do was keep his hand off that fucking desk. And I let him do it. Twice!"

He knows he'll dream about it for the rest of his life. No matter what else he does as a Kingsman, no matter what other horrors he sees or participates in he'll forever dream about that room filled with gore, and the sparkly disco ball rotating overhead as that sickening pop song blares through the speakers. He'll always find himself back there, terrified that he's about to be sliced to ribbons by Gazelle's razor-sharp swords, crawling away from her as she spins in crazy circles on the blood-slicked floor.

"No other agent could have done better," Harry says, wrenching him back to the present. He's horrified to find that his palms are wet with sweat; he feels cold all over. "You had to put Gazelle down first or she would have killed you. And then you wouldn't have been able to stop anything." Harry pauses only long enough to take a breath, not giving him a chance to interrupt. "You didn't fail, Eggsy. You did your job."

Eggsy stares at him. Harry looks so sincere, and he aches so badly to believe him, he really does. He hates feeling like this, hates bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. No one has ever told him he's accountable for V-Day, but they don't have to. He already knows it.

And now this latest failure, the news that he let one of Valentine's devices escape into the clutches of yet another madman. How many people has Ivanov used it on? How many innocent people are already dead because of his mistake?

"Eggsy." Harry is still looking at him, leaning forward as though he's about to get up and walk over to him. "You were a true Kingsman that day. As you have been on every day since then."

Even now he still feels that little spark of heat deep inside him when Harry praises him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and wonders how the hell Harry knows these things. Did he watch the video footage of that fight with Gazelle? Did he watch Eggsy kill Valentine? What did he think?

He doesn't know what to feel about that, imagining Harry sitting there in the Kingsman library, watching him do all that stuff. He doesn't know if he should be proud, or embarrassed, or angry.

"It isn't your fault that Valentine's device is missing," Harry says. "It was gone well before you got to that factory. Blame yourself for V-Day if you must. I certainly can't stop you – and God knows I know a thing or two about regrets. But I won't let you blame yourself for losing the device."

He can't think about the first part of Harry's little speech. Especially that bit about regrets. So instead he jumps on the least important thing Harry just said. "You won't 'let me'? How you gonna stop me?"

There's a moment when he isn't sure how Harry will respond, if he's gone too far with that little challenge. Then Harry relaxes back in his seat and says, "I'm sure I can think of something."

And fucking hell, Eggsy just can't help it. He grins.

It feels so good, like he's found something he'd lost. Like the clock has rewound and they're back at the start, when they were still friends and the future was so bright, leading him on with its promise of more.

It's not real, of course. He knows that. But after weeks of dashed dreams and ruined hopes, he'll take it.

He'll take whatever he can get.

Harry takes a deep breath. "I know this isn't the right time, but when we get back from Venice, I was thinking we could—"

"No!" Eggsy blurts.

Harry stops and stares at him. "What?"

"I mean." He sinks his teeth into his lower lip. Fucking hell. This is what he wanted, isn't it? It's what he had decided was best. So why not just say yes?

Well, he knows why. Because it wasn't his idea. Because he's not ready. Because he'll never be ready to hear Harry say he doesn't want him.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "All right." He grins a little, a nervous gesture that doesn't really hide how scared he actually is. "We'll talk, yeah? Maybe get some coffee?" Maybe even at the same coffee shop they stopped at on that night they spent together, the night Harry still doesn't remember.

Harry catches his breath. For a moment he looks like he's panicking nearly as much as Eggsy is. Then his expression smooths out and he's just a proper gentleman again. "All right. Thank you, Eggsy."

"Yeah," Eggsy says under his breath. He turns to look out the window again and tries to calm his racing heart. He figures he's got twenty-four hours, probably less, before he has to sit down and have that talk with Harry.

He's not at all sure he's going to make it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there is a very brief event in this chapter involving guns and self-harm. If you think this kind of thing might be triggering for you, see the more specific end notes.

It's well after dark and raining when they land in Venice.

The dark atmosphere suits Harry's mood. As the water bus takes them from the airport to the hotel, he glances over at Eggsy. He has to keep it brief, but it's enough for him to see that Eggsy is already settled into his role for their mission, sitting apart from him and staring straight ahead, like he's not with Harry.

Enough. He can't be caught lingering. He looks away, letting his gaze drift over the other people in the cab, as though he's merely a curious tourist checking everyone out. And indeed he does note the other people surrounding them, but only in a clinical fashion, part of his brain automatically cataloguing and assessing the crowd while leaving the rest of his mind free to think about other things.

Which naturally means he's thinking about Eggsy.

He should be pleased that he and Eggsy have finally agreed to sit down and talk about what's going on between them, but all he can feel is a low-key sense of dread. He knows it won't be a pleasant conversation.

But there's hope, he reminds himself. Eggsy had seemed genuinely angry on his behalf when he learned that Harry would be coming on the mission, exposed to the same dangers he had faced in the church. That's not the reaction of someone who doesn't care.

Maybe Eggsy _has_ forgiven him.

Not that he deserves that forgiveness. Especially after he lied to Eggsy about what he remembers.

 _Is that the only thing you remembered?_ Eggsy had asked, and he had heard the note of desperate hope in Eggsy's voice.

What else could he have done? Admitting he remembered the drunken pass Eggsy made at him on that night they shared, and those hateful words he had said the next day, would only have made things worse. Despite what Eggsy said to him after Dublin about not wanting to work together, he's seen flashes of the old Eggsy from time to time, the one who used to smile and wink at him so cheekily. He'd like to think that given enough time, he could win that Eggsy back.

But he doesn't have that kind of time, and he knows it. There's barely a whole day left. Because as soon as he tells Eggsy that he remembers everything, and he tries to apologize, that will be it. Eggsy will sever ties with him for good.

And Harry won't be able to blame him for it.

He's sorry for the lie, but he can't be sorry for the reason behind it. Eggsy may not want to be friends, may never want to even be around him again, but Harry will forever love him anyway.

It's a bittersweet truth, but he's had time to accept it. Or so he hopes. He loves Eggsy with all his heart. He knows perfectly well that his love is unrequited, that he's only dooming himself to heartbreak, but he's just going to have to accept that as well. He will do whatever it takes to keep Eggsy from being hurt, and he will do it unhesitatingly. And if that means silently plotting to take Ivanov out himself so Eggsy isn't exposed to the horrors of mind control, he'll do that, too. Anything to keep Eggsy safe. No matter the cost.

As he said to Eggsy on the plane, he's well-acquainted with regret.

The water bus stops to let some passengers off. Harry watches them go. Their stop is next; he and Eggsy have a room booked at the same hotel Ivanov is staying at. He doesn't think they'll be using it, though.

The meeting between Ivanov and Victor Shaw is tomorrow. Harry has no proof of that, but nonetheless he's as certain of that as he is of his own name. If he and Eggsy can't get the device tonight, their window of opportunity will be worryingly small.

He glances over at Eggsy again. Shortly before their plane landed they had discussed the mission, but without reaching any agreement about how to move forward. All they had agreed was that their first step should be to visually check out the area around Ivanov's hotel room and determine the feasibility of apprehending him in there.

"Then what, kick in the door and go in all gangbusters?" Eggsy had said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Harry had shaken his head. "We can't risk alerting the other occupants of the hotel."

Eggsy had shrugged. "I'm sure I can find a uniform somewhere. Act like I'm part of the staff. You know, that whole 'pretend I'm room service' thing."

He hadn't liked that idea at all. In Dublin it had worked because Donald Grady was a known variable, and because Eggsy hadn't been alone in his role; the public nature of a restaurant had been enough to keep him safe.

But they know very little about Dmitri Ivanov and what he is capable of. And a hotel room is a private place, where anything can happen. The last thing Harry wants is for Eggsy to go in there alone.

They are in this one together.

The water bus is slowing again. Harry gathers his bag and stands up, heads for the exit. He's aware of Eggsy doing the same thing, keeping far enough back that no one watching would think they are together.

They keep the same distance apart on their way to the hotel. Other tourists surround them, talking excitedly in half a dozen different languages. Harry stays in their midst and frowns down at his passport like he's not sure of the ritual required at the hotel check-in desk. He has no reason to think anyone is watching them, but it's the habit of a lifetime to play a role, to be someone he's not.

He gets checked in without difficulty, and heads for the elevator. The doors are almost closing when Eggsy slips inside. "Could you press 4 please?"

The hotel is gracefully appointed but old; there are renovations being done on a conference room for business users and the pool is currently closed and being retiled. Ivanov's room is on the third floor; Harry and Eggsy's room is on the fourth.

They find their room easily enough. Harry opens the door and then stands back, allowing Eggsy to enter first. It's an instinctive response, a gentleman's proper behavior – but it also gives him an excuse to let his gaze linger on Eggsy for just a little bit longer.

Their room has two beds and an excellent view of a brick wall on the building next door. It's small but clean, and while Eggsy looks around curiously, Harry seizes his chance and goes into the even smaller bathroom.

When he's done washing up, he spends a few moments staring at his face in the mirror. Despite the late hour his suit looks as crisp as it did this morning. There's scarcely a hint of stubble on his cheeks. The cut on his neck looks to be healing nicely; he can barely feel it anymore.

He still looks tired, though.

Harry closes his eyes. If circumstances were different, he would suggest getting some dinner, having an early night and getting a good night's sleep. But of course he will do no such thing. They have work to do.

Still. It's pure wasteful indulgence, but Harry lets himself imagine that he and Eggsy are here on holiday. That they've come to beautiful, romantic Venice to spend time with each other.

In a few moments he will walk out into the bedroom and kiss Eggsy. After a little bit Eggsy will laugh and say that's enough. He'll adjust the knot in Eggsy's tie (it won't need it but it's something he likes to do anyway, a way of showing how very much he loves Eggsy) and they will take the elevator down. They'll walk through the lobby and heads will turn as people look at them, wondering what appeal that tired old man has for that handsome young one.

They'll walk along the Grand Canal while gondoliers call out and try to entice them into throwing money away on a too-expensive ride. They'll wander happily for a little while and he will debate whether or not he should take Eggsy's hand. Before he can gather up his courage though, they'll pass a restaurant and Eggsy will proclaim loudly that he's starving.

So in they'll go. They'll sit next to each other and Eggsy will eat right off his plate, heedless of the looks from other diners. Ever willing to thumb his nose at the establishment (possibly because he has no choice but to be part of it himself), Harry will kiss him just before dessert. Eggsy will flush a delightful shade of red, then grin openly at him. They'll finish the evening off with a sinful tiramisu and espresso and walk hand in hand back along the canal.

By then he'll be looking ahead to the rest of the night. And --

A sudden knock on the door jolts him back to reality. "Harry? You didn't fall in, did you?"

Harry frowns. His reflection does the same. He takes a final moment to make sure there is nothing amiss about his appearance, smooths his hands down his jacket, then opens the door and walks out.

"My turn," Eggsy says, and disappears into the bathroom. The door shuts behind him.

Harry sighs.

****

Fifteen minutes later they're on the third floor, looking for Dmitri Ivanov's room. Merlin, once again entrusting this mission to no one but himself, speaks in their ear.

"Should be right around the corner. Number 331."

They walk down the hall, Eggsy in the lead. The set of his shoulders is tense; they haven't spoken since leaving their own room.

The corridors of the hotel are narrow but well-lit. Harry is very aware of Eggsy's proximity, and the shape of his body beneath the navy pinstripe bespoke suit. He has to give himself a firm mental shake to clear his head and stay focused. Last night he was almost strangled because of his inattention. Tonight it could be something much worse.

They round the corner and find themselves in another long hall. "Ahead on your left," Merlin says.

And yes, there it is. No light can be seen beneath the door, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

"What do you think?" Eggsy asks quietly.

"I think the rooms are too close together," Harry says.

Eggsy scowls. "Yeah."

They don't know the range of Valentine's device yet. They can't take the chance that Ivanov will activate it and have it affect the innocent people staying in nearby rooms. Harry will be forever haunted by the memory of what happened in that church. Those people might have been horrid, but they still hadn't deserved their fate.

No one deserves that.

"We could--" Eggsy starts to say, and Harry hears someone coming from the hallway behind them.

He turns his head to look, already reaching for his watch and the amnesia darts nestled within. What he does next depends on whoever is approaching, and what they do.

He sees the shadow first, a lone figure, then the man comes around the corner. Harry sees with no real surprise that it's Dmitri Ivanov.

Eggsy inhales sharply.

Harry reacts without thinking. He slides one step to his left and seizes Eggsy's shoulders, shoves him up against the wall, and kisses him.

Eggsy makes a muffled sound of surprise against Harry's lips, but he's far from stupid. Immediately he starts kissing Harry back.

It's a lie, of course, but at that particular moment it doesn't feel like a lie. It feels real. Very real.

Eggsy leans into him and opens his mouth to the kiss. One of his hands drifts upward to clutch at Harry's arm.

Tomorrow Eggsy may very well hate him for this, but tonight Harry intends to take whatever he can get. He sets a possessive hand on the small of Eggsy's back and pulls him still closer. He licks into Eggsy's mouth, tasting him, breathing him in. Eggsy's lips are hot and wet and he is sweet, so sweet, and Harry has to stifle a groan as Eggsy's other hand settles on his hip.

Something clicks into place deep within him, a sense of all that is perfect and right. And he knows then the futility of the past few months, of pretending this was ever going to end differently. Because no matter what happens tonight, no matter the outcome of their talk tomorrow, Harry knows now that he can never give Eggsy up.

Not ever again.

He loves Eggsy beyond all reason, beyond all hope. If he never gets to kiss Eggsy again, if he never gets to hold Eggsy in his arms again, at least he will have the memory of tonight.

For the second time in as many days, Harry forgets where he is and why. He's so utterly lost in the heat of Eggsy's mouth that it's not until Ivanov is nearly upon them that he remembers why they're here, and why the kiss was even necessary in the first place.

Ivanov makes a derisive noise as he passes them by and pulls out his room key. He mutters under his breath; the words are in Russian, but Harry understands them perfectly. _Filthy perverts._

Eggsy doesn't know one word of the language, but there is no mistaking Ivanov's tone. He breaks the kiss, looks up at Ivanov and says, "Oi! Sod off, bruv."

Ivanov glares at them. He's blond and fair, and nearly as tall as Harry. He would almost be attractive, but for the way his eyebrows have grown together across his forehead. He looks at Eggsy, then at Harry – and his eyes get very wide.

 _Oh fuck_ , Harry thinks.

"You!" Ivanov breathes in English. "DeVere!"

There's no points for guessing how Ivanov knows who he is, but in that moment of stunned recognition, Harry does it anyway. Valentine must have pulled one or two good still frames from the security camera footage of their dinner together, and circulated them among the officers of his company. _Who is this man and who does he work for? He's trying to stop us._ As head of R &D, Ivanov would have taken a worried concern in anyone trying to shut him down. The face of one Mr. Henry DeVere would have been forever branded on his brain.

And so Dmitri Ivanov, finally come face to face with his enemy, does what anyone would do.

He turns and runs.

"Shhhhiiit," Eggsy breathes.

"Go," Harry says, and breaks into a run. He has no idea if Ivanov has the mind control device on his person or if it's safely hidden in his room. Nor does it matter. They have to apprehend the man, and it has to be now.

Ivanov turns the corner, running back in the direction he came from.

Harry and Eggsy run after him.

****

Eggsy runs pretty fast as he starts to chase after Ivanov, but it's his mind that's really racing.

All he can think is, _Harry just kissed me, holy shit Harry just kissed me._

Weeks of remembering their one and only kiss, and the promise Harry had made him, that they would talk about their future together, and out of the blue comes this second kiss.

He shouldn't have responded like he did, shouldn't have given so much of himself. He can tell himself until he's blue in the face that he only did it for the mission, that it was strictly a survival tactic, but he knows that's pure bullshit.

He did it because he fucking wanted to.

He knows now that no matter what happens tomorrow when they finally sit down to talk, he's not giving Harry up again. He simply can't do it.

Ahead of him, Ivanov turns the corner, going back toward the elevators, where he came from. Eggsy puts on a fresh burst of speed, trying to close the distance between them. He can hear Harry right behind him, keeping up with no problem, and that's good, because he knows he can't slow down.

He shoves his hand beneath his coat, thinking to draw his gun. It's risky as hell shooting Ivanov in the middle of a hotel hallway, but he's hoping it won't come to that. Hopefully just the threat of being shot will be enough to stop Ivanov.

His fingers just brush the gun when a door at the far end of the hall opens up and a couple emerges. They're both in fancy dress, wearing coats and holding umbrellas. Ivanov is only a few feet away when they walk out; when he sees them, he immediately veers in their direction.

Startled, the fancy couple draws back – and Ivanov runs right into their room.

"Fuck!" Eggsy yells. The fancy guy shouts something in Italian. 

And the door is closing.

Eggsy puts on more speed and manages to hit the door in the split second before it shuts and latches. He flings it open, ignoring the cursing being hurled his way by the angry couple, and barrels into the room.

If Ivanov had chosen to stand his ground, had aimed a gun at him, Eggsy would be dead the moment he burst inside. But Ivanov is still running. He's at the window now, leaping over the sill and onto the balcony outside.

Eggsy swears and keeps running. Behind him the couple is now yelling at Harry as he swerves into their room.

 _Keep going_ , Eggsy thinks, and heads straight for the window.

It's still raining out. Eggsy slides out onto the balcony and wastes precious moments looking around. They're three stories up, on the opposite side of the hotel from where his and Harry's room is located. Above him the sky remains pitch black, but there's a light on this side of the building, and one on the building next door. Together they provide enough light for him to finally spot Ivanov's figure -- below him and on his right. 

It's such an unexpected sight that it takes Eggsy a moment to put it together and realize what happened. Ivanov must have jumped from this balcony onto the balcony of a room on the second floor. 

And as he stands there staring, as Harry joins him on the rain-soaked balcony, Ivanov starts scrabbling at the window, trying to open it so he can get into guest's room beyond.

"Go, for fuck's sake!" Harry yells. Eggsy throws a glance over his shoulder and sees Harry already starting the run toward the railing.

"Oh, shit!" Eggsy cries. There isn't really enough room to get a running start from his location; he's too close to the railing.

He goes for it anyway.

A few running steps and he leaps. He plants his foot on the railing and propels himself forward, spreading his arms to keep his balance. There's a really bad moment when he thinks he didn't get far enough out, that he's going to slam into the railing of the balcony below and simply fall the two stories to the ground, then he's clearing the railing with barely an inch to spare and landing on the tile.

Shockwaves of pain jolt up through his legs. He tucks and rolls, comes up in an almost-crouch just as Harry lands on the balcony beside him, less than a foot away. Eggsy spares a glance to make sure he's okay (he is), then whirls around, half-expecting to be shot at. But Ivanov is already through the window and in the room. He's reaching into his pocket, yes, but it's not a gun he pulls out. It's something small, something Eggsy can't make out.

Their eyes meet through the open window. For a moment that seems frozen in time, no one moves. Eggsy sees Ivanov's desperation and anger, and the way he's breathing hard from the chase. Then Ivanov shoves the plugs in his ears, and suddenly Eggsy knows exactly what he's planning.

So does Merlin, safely tucked away at HQ, watching all this through their glasses. "Don't let him activate that device!" he orders.

As if Eggsy needs to be told that. He swipes a hand across his face, clearing the rain from his eyes, and ducks through the window. Even before he's halfway through, Ivanov takes off running again, darting through the hotel room he's just commandeered. Thankfully no one is in here, no one who might be taken hostage or hurt or killed. But there's also no one to stop him as he flings open the door and runs out into the hall.

Barely even winded, Eggsy and Harry give chase again. All three of them leave wet footprints behind as they sprint down the hotel corridor. They dash past closed room doors, an ice machine, a cart loaded with housekeeping supplies. As he approaches, Eggsy glances it over, looking for something he could use to slow Ivanov, then keeps going.

Ivanov throws a glance over his shoulder. His mouth is turned down in a grimace of terrified exertion. One shoulder slams into the wall as he careens around the corner, and he staggers, but doesn't slow down.

This new hallway is shorter. There are only a couple doors lining the corridor. At the end of the hall are the double doors of the conference room that's being renovated, now off their hinges and leaning up against the wall. Beyond this there is nothing, just a blank wall.

They won't get a better chance than this. Eggsy reaches again for his gun, and then something goes sailing past his head. He blinks in surprise as a spray bottle filled with some blue liquid strikes Ivanov square in the back of the head.

Chagrined that he didn't think of this, Eggsy watches, and hopes. It's a hard hit, enough to cause Ivanov to stumble. But it's not hard enough. Ivanov doesn't stop running. And as Harry throws a second bottle, their target turns sharply and disappears into the conference room.

The second bottle hits the wall and bounces off, then falls harmlessly to the floor. "Nice try," Eggsy says.

"We have to stop him," Harry says grimly.

Eggsy glances back at him. All the running and jumping around has Harry looking pretty disheveled, his hair falling out of its careful styling and onto his forehead, his suit as wet as Eggsy's. But he's obviously able to keep going for some time yet.

Not that there's anywhere to go. This is it. End of the line.

In sync they draw their pistols and step into the conference room.

The room has been gutted for the renovations. The carpets are rolled up, half the ceiling tiles are missing, and all the furniture is gone, no doubt safely put into storage. Dmitri Ivanov stands in the middle of the room where the conference table would normally be, waiting for them.

In one hand he holds Valentine's mind control device.

It's smaller than Eggsy thought it would be; it fits comfortably in Ivanov's hand. It looks almost like a normal mobile phone. What looks like the icons for apps are probably the controls. Ivanov's thumb is curled atop the device, making Eggsy think uncomfortably of a grenade with the pin pulled, only the pressure of that single finger preventing it from detonating.

"You know what this is?" Ivanov says. He has a Russian accent, but he's still perfectly understandable. "I know you do. It's why you're here, isn't it?"

Eggsy doesn't move. He can see Harry out of the corner of his eye, standing on his right in a pose that mirrors his own: right arm held out, gun aimed, hand steady. One shot now will end it all.

Ivanov seems to know what he's thinking, because a small, cold smile stretches his lips. "You won't shoot me," he says. "You _can't._ "

Eggsy curls his finger around the trigger. Stupidly enough, all he can think is what he said to Valentine at the very end. _This ain't that kind of movie, bruv._

"You see this?" Ivanov holds the device up high. "It has what you call a dead man's switch. You understand?"

Eggsy's heart nearly stops. He feels cold all over. Oh yeah, he understands perfectly well. He knows now why Ivanov stopped to put those ear plugs in, and why the analogy of a grenade with the pin pulled seemed to fit so well. If Ivanov takes his hand off the device, if he drops it because he's been shot or otherwise harmed, then it will go off. It will start broadcasting its signal.

At this close range, Eggsy has no doubts about what will happen next. He and Harry will turn on each other with single-minded ferocity. And while they do their best to kill each other, Dmitri Ivanov will simply walk out and escape to safety.

"Run," Eggsy says without taking his eyes off Ivanov. "Get outta here." 

In his ear Merlin urges the same thing. "One of you get out of there _now._ "

"Oh, no no no," Ivanov says. "You even think about it and I'll let it go."

Eggsy eases his finger away from the trigger. He's fast enough that he could probably turn and dive for the entranceway and make it out into the hallway before the signal hits him. There's only two problems with that scenario. The first is that he still doesn't know the range of the device, and how far away he needs to get to be safe. The second is much simpler: he won't abandon Harry.

"It doesn't have to be like this," Harry says. "No one has to be hurt." Eggsy risks glancing at him and sees a bleak, almost fatalistic determination on his face. 

The sight sends chills through him. In Harry's mind, it's already over. He's already been forced to kill Eggsy.

"No?" Ivanov is still smiling that cold little smile. "Maybe I'll just turn it on for a few seconds, what do you say? Let you two have fun while I just walk right out of here."

He's absolutely serious, Eggsy can see that. He isn't bluffing.

Panic claws at his chest. When the device goes off and the signal hits him, he's got to stay focused. He's got to remember why he's here and what's he's after. "We get _him_ ," he says quietly, his words intended for Harry.

Harry says nothing. He knows better than anyone that it doesn't work that way. Eggsy is the greater threat, the one with a weapon, the one who will need to be put down immediately. And Eggsy knows that no matter how hard he tries to remember that Ivanov is his enemy and not Harry, when that signal burrows its way into his brain, all logical thought will be wiped out.

If this were a movie, he would be able to hold onto his sense of self long enough to kill Ivanov and deactivate the device. It would be a struggle, full of manful sweat and tears, but he would ultimately prevail. 

But this isn't a movie. It's real. Very fucking real.

Briefly he considers shooting Ivanov anyway, or just shooting the thing out of his hand. Take his chances. If he's fast enough he can grab the device before it's gone off for too long.

Yeah right. And if he does that, Harry will gun him down from behind.

Merlin is speaking rapidly in his ear, but Eggsy ignores him. There's nothing Merlin can do to help. There's nothing anyone can do.

"See you later," Ivanov says. "Well, one of you, anyway." He starts to lift his fingers from the device, one at a time, taunting them. He's not smiling anymore.

"Eggsy, I'm so sorry," Harry says.

"It's not your fault," Eggsy says. It breaks his heart that Harry feels like he has to apologize for the violence he's about to unleash, for being forced to lose control of himself for a second time.

He can't stand it. He can't do this. Either he kills Harry, or he's the one overpowered and killed, and Harry has to live with the guilt for the rest of his life. And they never got to talk, never got to even glimpse that happy future together that he had been promised.

He never got to tell Harry how he feels about him.

He turns toward Harry, wanting to get one last look at the man he loves beyond all reason, and sees Harry looking at him with all the same hopeless love he's been feeling these past few months.

Then Harry brings his pistol in and shoves the muzzle beneath his chin.

Absolute horror blasts through him. Eggsy doesn't even think. He screams in denial and lunges at Harry, knocking into him and sending him off balance just as he fires.

The whole _universe_ seems to explode then. Fiery pain erupts in his head and he goes down, too stunned to cry out or even try to break his fall. Already he's losing consciousness.

He lands on the floor hard enough to jolt him back to awareness. Through dazed eyes he looks up and sees Ivanov standing there, his mouth hanging open in shock. Then there's a muffled report, and Ivanov suddenly staggers backward. Twin patches of scarlet bloom on his chest.

Eggsy blinks. His head is killing him. One side of his face is wet with blood. His glasses have been knocked off and his right ear is ringing so badly it's hard to hear anything.

Standing above him, Harry slowly lowers his gun.

Ivanov's arm drops. He remains standing for a few more seconds, staring at Harry in blank shock. Then his whole body crumples and he falls. The mind control device tumbles from his hand and lands face down on the floor.

Harry bolts forward.

Eggsy stares and blinks. His vision clears. His hearing clears.

He can't believe it. Harry just tried to kill him.

Righteous fury sweeps through him. Harry just _shot_ him. Tried to kill him in cold blood.

The rage wipes out everything else, even the horrible pain in his head. He rises to his knees and find his gun lying on the floor where he dropped it when Harry shot him. He seizes it and before he can even get it lifted all the way, he shoots Harry twice in the back.

Harry staggers, but doesn't go down. For a moment Eggsy's rage reaches new heights, because what the fuck _why won't he just die_ , and then he remembers. Bulletproof suit. Like his own.

If he's going to do this, he's got to do it right. It's got to be a head shot. Like Harry just tried to do to him.

He lines up the shot and takes careful aim. Just as Harry throws himself to his knees and slams his hand down on the device.

Everything shudders to a halt then. There was nothing wrong with his sight before, yet it seems to Eggsy that a murky haze has been lifted from his eyes. He's able to think straight again.

And all he can think about is the fact that he just tried to kill Harry.

With a return of clarity comes a return of pain. And pure horror. He watches Harry twist around, still on his knees, to look back at him, and he can hardly breathe.

"Eggsy." Harry is starkly white. "Oh my God." He picks up Valentine's device and taps at the screen, then lets it fall. With nothing at all of his usual grace, he scrambles to his feet and runs over.

Eggsy starts to get up. His head feels like its splitting open and for a moment he's honestly not sure if he's going to make it. Then at last with a great lurch forward, he's able to stand up straight.

Harry stops in front of him. He reaches out one hand and touches Eggsy's face, so lightly. His hand is shaking, Eggsy realizes. "Are you--?"

 _I'm fine_ , he thinks. He knows he's hurt but he can't figure out why or how it happened.

"You," he says.

Harry jerks his hand away. He swallows hard, but says nothing.

"You," he says again. He blinks, and there's blood in his eye, and then he remembers, then he understands. He's been shot, yeah, but it's just a crease along the side of his head. He's fine, he'll be fine, but he can't believe it, he can't believe it, he's been shot because he was trying to stop Harry from—

"Why did you do that?" he cries. He can still see it in his mind's eye, still feel the horrified desperation that had driven him to leap forward. "What the fuck, Harry? _Why did you do that?_ "

"I couldn't…" Harry stares at him and his eyes are so dark they're almost black. "I'll never let anyone make me hurt you."

Eggsy can't. He had thought, he had thought, oh fuck, that isn't what he had thought at all. Harry hadn't chosen death over being forced to submit to mind control again. He had chosen death over hurting Eggsy.

"I don't…" He can't find his voice. His head fucking hurts and even though the mind control device is shut down, he still can't seem to string two thoughts together in his head. "Why would… You don't…"

"Because I love you," Harry says.

For the second time that night, Eggsy's world completely stops. He's reeling, untethered, flying apart.

"I have loved you for such a long time," Harry says. Eggsy has never seen him look so defeated before. He sounds utterly hopeless as he says, "I'm sorry. I know you don't feel the same way. I don't mean to make you feel awkward, and I won't—"

Eggsy surges forward and kisses him.

For a long moment neither of them moves, only their lips touching. Then Harry lifts a hand to the side of his neck.

Eggsy shudders and throws both arms around him. "I love you," he whispers fiercely. "I've loved you from the day I met you, do you hear me, _I love you._ "

Harry holds him back tightly. "I thought…"

"No," Eggsy cries, and fuck, when did that start, but he can't make himself stop. "No, _fuck_ , I love you so much and I thought you didn't want me."

Harry releases him enough to stand back and look down at him. He isn't crying, but there's a shine in his eyes that wasn't there moments ago. "I've never stopped wanting you, Eggsy. Even when I couldn't remember it."

His heart gives a giant leap in his chest. He blinks back the tears. "Wait. Does that mean…?"

Slowly Harry nods. "I remember."

"All of it?" he whispers.

"All of it," Harry says.

Eggsy is too amazed to respond. A hundred questions clamor in his mind at once. When, and how, and why didn't he say anything before, and what does it all mean.

Where do they go from here?

Before he can ask, Harry goes very still. His gaze cuts to one side. One side of his mouth turns up in a wry smile. "Yes, Arthur," he says.

Eggsy winces. Oh crap. He looks down and spots his glasses on the floor.

Harry walks over to where Dmitri Ivanov lies dead. He picks up the mind control device and very carefully slides it into his pocket.

Eggsy stoops and retrieves his glasses. As he stands up, a bolt of pain goes through his skull and he makes a very undignified groan. He reaches up, thinking to touch that spot just above his eyebrow where the worst of the pain seems to be centered, but in the end he chickens out. He can't bring himself to do it. He's afraid to find out how bad it is.

"We need to leave," Harry says. He walks back over.

"Yeah," Eggsy says. He doesn't want to nod and make the pain in his head any worse. He tucks his glasses into his jacket pocket where they'll be safe. No way he can put them on right now.

In spite of what he just said, Harry doesn't make a move to leave. He stands in front of Eggsy, wet from the rain, his tie slightly askew, two bullets embedded in the back of his suit from where Eggsy tried to kill him. And fuck, thinking about that makes Eggsy shudder again, because he came so close to ending Harry's life for good, killing the man he loves without even batting an eye.

"Don't," Harry says. "Eggsy, don't."

"Fuck," Eggsy groans, and he wraps his arms around Harry again. He doesn't ever want to let go.

Not ever again.

****

"We have to leave," Harry says again, but first he hugs Eggsy one more time. He honestly doesn't think he'll be able to stop doing that any time soon. He needs the reassurance of having Eggsy in his arms, warm and alive. There's so much blood on Eggsy's face, and he's chalk white and shaking beneath the wet fabric of his suit. How can Harry ever let go of him again?

He still feels shaky all over, unable to believe how close they came to losing everything. From his impulsive response to Ivanov's threat to shutting down the device it can't have taken more than thirty seconds. And yet his entire world has experienced such a tidal shift that it's going to take a long time to process it.

Eggsy loves him.

He can't fathom it. Can't understand why.

Eggsy is still in his arms, safe and sound despite the ugly wound just above his eyebrow. It looks horrible and is no doubt extremely painful, but head wounds bleed a lot, or so Harry reminds himself every few seconds. It's the only thing keeping him from demanding that Eggsy let him look at the bleeding gash and tend to it right this very second.

One of Eggsy's hands feels along his back, fingers searching. Harry stands still – he knows exactly what Eggsy is looking for. He also knows that he'll be bruised and sore as hell for the next couple days. The bespoke suit might be bulletproof, but at such close range, the impacts still fucking hurt.

Eggsy plucks one of the bullets free of the twill and holds it up. It's just a flattened chunk of metal now, but that doesn't make it any less menacing.

"Put it away," Harry says. There's a clean-up crew already on the way, but the less evidence he and Eggsy leave behind, the easier it will be for those poor fellows. He doesn't envy them their job one bit.

"Turn around," Eggsy orders.

Harry turns obediently. He's got a perfect view now of Ivanov lying there on the floor, toes pointing in opposite directions, his crotch wet and stinking of urine. Cold fury settles over him as he stares at the corpse, making him wish he could kill the man all over again.

It's not the unreasoning rage that Valentine's device elicited from him in the church in Kentucky, though. Or the rage that Eggsy just fell victim to. 

A rage that Harry was immune to, for reasons he can't even begin to guess at.

He hadn't known that would be the case when he shot Ivanov and ran to deactivate the device. He had only thought -– had _hoped_ -– that he could make it there without being diverted by the mindless fury he experienced in Kentucky. It's true that when Eggsy shot him, he had felt a brief moment where he had very nearly whirled around and shot back in retaliation. Now that it's all over, though, he's pretty sure that was just a reflexive response, an ingrained reaction from someone who's lived a life of violence for over thirty years.

No, he hadn't wanted to kill Eggsy. He hadn't been affected at all. And he doesn't know why. All he knows is that he's incredibly grateful it happened that way.

"Got it." Eggsy pulls the second bullet from his jacket, and Harry turns back around. He winces all over again at the sight of the blood on Eggsy's face, and the ugly gash across his forehead where the shot that was supposed to take his own life left its mark.

"Galahad, you need to get out of there _now_ ," Merlin says over his glasses. It's the same thing he's been saying since it all ended, with ever-increasing urgency.

Merlin is right, of course. Harry even agrees with him. He wants nothing more than to take Eggsy up to their room and make sure he's all right, tend to the wound on his face and keep him safe. But there are practicalities to be dealt with now, and all manner of loose ends that need to be tied up.

It's an effort to focus on those details, so important and yet so insignificant in comparison to Eggsy and what he's learned tonight. "Eggsy, go to our room," he says. "Get our things. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Why, where are you going?" Eggsy asks, his voice thick with suspicion.

"Ivanov's room," Harry says. He needs to make sure there is nothing left. Clearly Ivanov was paranoid about his meeting with Victor Shaw, enough to carry the device and ear plugs on him at all times. But what about his notes and all his research on the new device? Some of it was in his lab at the factory Eggsy blew up, but a man like Ivanov wouldn't leave anything to chance. He almost certainly had several copies made. There is most likely a laptop in his hotel room, possibly locked away in the hotel safe. Wherever it is, Harry needs to find it and destroy it.

"I'm not letting you go alone," Eggsy says. His jaw is set mutinously. The area around his right eye is starting to bruise and swell; by morning he'll have a splendid black eye.

"I'll be fine," Harry assures him. He gestures toward Eggsy's face. "You'll attract attention, and that's something we don't need right now. Go upstairs. Merlin will keep you informed of my situation."

"Nope," Eggsy shakes his head.

Harry looks at him. He can certainly understand the impulse to remain close after what happened, but there are times when the job has to come first – hard as that might be to accept. "Eggsy, just go. I'll be fine. I can handle myself."

"I know you can," Eggsy says. "But that don't mean I'm lettin' you out of my sight." He smirks. "And since I only got one good eye right now, I guess that means I need to keep you extra close."

Harry shakes his head. He wants to be cross, but he just can't do it. After all, Eggsy's loyalty is one of the first things Harry noticed about him. He gave up a promising career in the Marines to come home and take care of his mother and new baby sister. He called the number on the back of the Kingsman medal only when he was facing a prison sentence for refusing to name the friends who had been in the car with him during his last joyride. And he had refused to give up Harry even when his life was threatened, the last -– and to be honest, _only_ –- proof of loyalty Harry had needed to hear to know that he had found the right candidate for Kingsman. 

"See?" Eggsy says. He grins. "Isn't this better?"

"Galahad," Merlin warns. If a voice could reach out and strangle someone, that single word from Merlin would be doing it to him right now.

He's tired of listening to it, tired of being ordered around. "Yes," he snaps. " _Fine_."

Eggsy rears back a little in shock. "Wow, don't sound so enthusiastic," he says wryly.

"No," Harry says quickly, because he is through with the misunderstandings between them. Never again will he let Eggsy suffer, thinking he meant one thing when in fact he meant another. "Not you. Our illustrious leader."

"Oh," Eggsy says. He grins, swift and beautiful.

Harry curses the nature of their situation then, even as he recognizes that they simply have no other choice. Duty comes first. He can't linger here any longer, not even to kiss Eggsy. No matter how badly he wants to.

"Right," he says. "Are you ready?"

Eggsy smiles at him. "Harry," he says, "I was _born_ ready."

"Yes, well, we'll see about that," Harry says, and he can't help smiling back a little.

Eggsy winks at him – using his good eye – and Harry's heart turns over in his chest. He has never loved anyone so much before. He knows he will never love anyone like this ever again.

He goes out into the hall first, checking to make sure there is no one out there, no random members of hotel security for instance, hurrying over to investigate reports of what sounded like gunshots coming from the conference room. But the coast is clear, and he beckons Eggsy to join him.

Together they head down the hall, and set off to finish the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler warning: Someone tries very briefly to shoot himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read this story, and to everyone who has left feedback, either here or on [my Tumblr](http://missbeckywrites.tumblr.com/). You all are the reason I keep writing, and I appreciate you so much.
> 
> Special thanks to [nightwalker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/works), [HumanTrampoline](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanTrampoline/works), and [KagekaNecavi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KagekaNecavi/works) for all their support and help, and for letting me babble at them for the past few months about this story.

After everything that happens, the frantic chase and confrontation with Ivanov, the terror of nearly losing Harry and getting shot, and the emotional confessions of love, Eggsy would like to think he handles the rest of it with smooth sophistication. The perfect gentleman and all that.

Unfortunately, this ain't that kind of movie.

Instead he's barely conscious as Harry breaks into Ivanov's room and steals the laptop sitting on the dresser. He does nothing to help as Harry goes about the business of arranging for their extraction and checking out of the hotel. And then he falls asleep on the plane.

It's actually pretty embarrassing. What else is new.

****

When he wakes up, the plane has already started the descent into London. Harry sits at a personal workstation similar to the one where once upon a time Merlin walked him through Valentine's bunker. Ivanov's laptop is open in front of him, a Kingsman drive plugged into it. He's frowning as he scrolls through a list of files. He clearly doesn't know Eggsy is awake yet, so Eggsy takes full advantage of this opportunity to study him.

His suit looks like it's drying out, although like Eggsy's it's probably uncomfortably damp still. His hair has fallen into loose waves that Eggsy surveys with utter delight -- he can't wait to run his fingers through those curls. From this angle he can only see Harry's profile, but he can still see the tight focus in Harry's gaze as he works to destroy Ivanov's research.

Eggsy smiles a little. His head is absolutely killing him and he can't open his right eye all the way, but he honestly doesn't give a shit. He knows he'll be fine.

Harry is the only thing he cares about. 

It seems unreal, like something he dreamed up. After all this time, after all that heartache, he still gets a happy ending. Harry wants him. Harry loves him.

And now Eggsy is free to love him back.

His smile becomes a full-blown grin. Warm happiness fills every corner of his being.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asks, and Eggsy realizes that he knew all along that he was awake.

"Like I got shot in the head," Eggsy says.

Harry turns around to look at him. He seems almost amused. "Not exactly pleasant, is it?"

Eggsy refrains from reaching up to touch. Before they left the hotel, Harry had taken time they hadn't really had and cleaned the blood from his face. Once they were on the plane, he had pillaged the first-aid kit and taped a bandage over the wound, but there's no question about it. When they get to HQ, his first stop is going to be Medical.

"Yeah," he says, "but we're gonna have matching scars now. How cool is that?"

"Some people just get each other mugs," Harry says dryly.

"Yeah, but we ain't like them," Eggsy says and grins again.

Harry gets up and takes the seat next to him. His eyes search Eggsy's face, lingering on the bandage. "Are you all right?" he asks.

Eggsy nods – very carefully. "Sure. I mean, it hurts, but I've had worse. I'll be fine."

"I'm glad," Harry says. "That means I can do this." He leans in and kisses Eggsy.

Surprised -- but in a very good way -- Eggsy kisses him back eagerly. Already he's discovering that Harry is a fucking _great_ kisser. It's not just what he does with his mouth; it's the way he touches Eggsy, the way he makes Eggsy feel like nothing else exists for Harry during these moments, that their kiss has become his whole world.

The knowledge that he gets to kiss Harry like this whenever he wants makes him _very_ happy.

Harry sits back. He looks at Eggsy, and it's clear that he's a little bit worried. Maybe he's thinking about Eggsy's head injury. Or maybe he's trying to see if what he just did is okay. As if Eggsy would ever do anything stupid like accuse him of taking liberties.

And maybe Harry sees that, because he smiles suddenly, the best kind of smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and lights up his whole face.

Harry is happy now, too, Eggsy realizes.

He feels warm all over just then, flush with love and protectiveness and the desire to make damn sure that nothing ever comes between them again. Not their own stupid words, not any more misunderstandings, not one single person. He ain't ever going through the hell of the past few months ever again.

Harry sets two fingers beneath his chin and gently turns his head, the better to examine the bandage over his face. His mouth tightens. "I'm so sorry," he says, and Eggsy can hear the guilt and self-loathing in his voice. "I never wanted to hurt you."

He doesn't say anything. He's no stranger to those dark feelings, those lying-in-bed-at-midnight trips through the worst parts of his life. And he knows that no matter what he says, Harry is still going to beat himself up about what happened.

For his part, Eggsy knows he's going to need some time to deal with it all. He still doesn't quite know what to do with the knowledge that Harry would rather have died than be turned into a weapon to be used against him.

No one's ever loved him like that before.

"You'll have to think of a story to tell your mother," Harry says.

"I fell down," Eggsy says promptly, the standard response he always gave as a child to explain the cuts and bruises Dean had so generously given him.

"I didn't mean right this second," Harry says. "It's…just something to think about."

"Oh," Eggsy says.

Harry releases him, and it's strange how he immediately feels the loss of that point of contact, those twin sources of warmth where Harry's long, beautiful fingers had been on his skin.

Now that he can have it any time he wants, he craves Harry's touch.

There's a short electronic clunk, the sound of a PA system coming online. Their pilot speaks. "Gentlemen, please take your seats and strap in. We'll be touching down soon."

Harry checks first to make sure Eggsy's seat belt is still securely fastened, then he goes back over to the workstation. He closes Ivanov's laptop and stows it in an overhead compartment. "I got most of his files, and a team has gone to his house to finish the job. No one will be following in his footsteps."

Eggsy watches him sit back down beside him and buckle his seat beat. "Why wasn't you affected?" he asks.

He doesn't understand it, but he's sure as hell not complaining. If Harry hadn't maintained his grip on his sanity and deactivated Valentine's device, Eggsy would have killed him. The way he remembers it, so horrifyingly clear, he figures that if Harry had been even two seconds slower, he would have been dead.

Those two seconds are going to haunt his nightmares for a long time to come.

"I don't know," Harry says in response to his question. "I imagine it has something to do with my previous exposure to the signal." He hesitates, and his gaze flicks to one side, clueing Eggsy in that he's listening to something Merlin is saying over his glasses. "We'll figure it out, though." He gives Eggsy a tight smile.

That smile doesn't come anywhere near his eyes. Eggsy doesn't like the look of it. "What," he says, "they gonna experiment on you or somethin'?"

Harry shakes his head, but Eggsy feels certain he's hit on an uncomfortable truth. "Well, fuck that," he declares. "I ain't gonna let 'em."

"What you're going to do," Harry says, somewhat loudly, "is go straight to Medical. As am I. And then I will meet with Arthur. By the time he and I are finished, you should be able to receive visitors." He gazes at Eggsy. "And then you and I are going to have a long overdue talk."

"Yeah," Eggsy says, although he's less than keen on the implication that he's going to be staying in Medical. "That sounds good."

"We're going to be all right, Eggsy," Harry says.

Immediately the words from Harry's e-mail spring to mind, the e-mail he had deleted but still knows by heart. The e-mail Harry had written on the way to Kentucky, words meant to reassure him that things were still okay between them in spite of their heated argument. _I know how I feel about you, and if you still feel the same way about me, then I think it's safe to say we'll be all right._

"Yeah," he says. "We will."

****

The doctor who takes over Eggsy spares a single, approving nod for the bandage Harry affixed in place, then leads him away. Harry watches them go and resists the urge to call after them, to tell Eggsy everything will be fine.

His own examination is brief and almost unnecessary. The doctor tells him he'll be bruised and hurting for a couple days where the bullets struck, but otherwise there's nothing wrong with him. "How's the head?"

"Fine," Harry says tersely as he buttons his shirt back up. He's more prone to headaches these days, but he'll accept that as a small price to pay for surviving.

"Arthur wants to see you then," the doctor says.

Harry nods. He's well aware.

He finds his friend in the sitting room, looking perfectly composed in spite of the hideously late hour. There's tea laid out, which is a very welcome sight, and the drapes are drawn against the night. Harry waits for the nod permitting him to sit, then does so.

"Galahad," and so that's how it's going to be. "Dr. Pham informs me that you passed your exam."

"Yes," Harry says. He sits very still, hands clasped in his lap.

"You'll be interested to know," Arthur continues, "that our team has managed to find the rest of Dmitri Ivanov's notes and research on his home computer, and destroyed it all. There doesn't seem to be another completed device in existence, so it would seem we now possess the only one."

Harry nods. He had expected nothing less. Kingsman is always very thorough.

"I haven't received an official report yet on Gawain's condition, but I've been told that he should be all right. You did well."

Harry nods again. All Kingsman agents are trained in basic first aid, but it's a skillset he would far prefer to use on himself than someone else. Especially someone as beloved as Eggsy.

Arthur hesitates. For a moment the professional mask cracks. He's not Arthur then, Harry's superior. He's Merlin again, the friend who has saved his life a dozen times, the man who hates his given name so much that he disowned it long ago in favor of his code name. "What happened out there?" he asks. It's almost plaintive, a need to understand. _Convince me,_ he's pleading.

"I made a judgment call," Harry says. "It was not the best one, I grant you, but it was the only one I could see at the time. I am not suicidal, nor do I have any desire to end my life. You may send me to therapy if you wish, but you would only be wasting everyone's time."

Merlin – for he is truly Merlin again now – nods a little, his shoulders slumping the tiniest bit with relief.

Harry takes a deep breath. He had plenty of time to rehearse his little speech on the plane ride back to London. While Eggsy slept and Harry watched over him, he had realized what he had to do. He hates it, but he knows what he must do. It's the only solution.

"I wish to tender my resignation," he says.

Merlin blinks in shock.

"It is unprofessional and unbecoming for me to carry on a relationship with a fellow agent. I do not wish to be the cause of any—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Merlin says, cutting him off. "Don't be a twat."

Now it's Harry's turn to be surprised. "I'm sorry?"

"You're not going anywhere," Merlin says. "Although your offer is duly noted. I need you here, Harry."

Almost overcome with relief, Harry doesn't say anything. He had known this was the right thing to do, but that hadn't meant he had _wanted_ to do it. Kingsman is his entire life. It's all he knows. Without it, he wouldn't have the first clue what to do with himself.

"However, there will have to be rules," Merlin says. "That kind of…personal behavior…has no business in an official mission log." He gives Harry a long look, making his feelings abundantly clear on having to watch two of his agents kissing each other. Several times.

Harry nods again. It feels like an enormous weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He doesn't have to resign. He doesn't have to explain the tearful confessions of love or the kissing.

He _does_ need to say something here, however. "I apologize for what you had to witness," he says. "However, in our defense, we had both nearly just died. And Eggsy and I —"

"Save it," Merlin says. "I don't want to know." His gaze sharpens. "And for the record, the next time you consider asking me a not-so-subtle question about your private relationships, you might remember that I have the ability to put you to work in the frozen tundra for six months. In winter."

Harry has to clench his jaw to keep from smiling. "Yes. I understand."

"Good," Merlin says crisply. "I'm glad we understand each other."

They look at each other, and the last of Merlin's stern façade falls away. He even smiles a little. "I am glad for you both," he says. "I mean this in the best way possible when I say you deserve each other."

Harry looks away. "Thank you," he murmurs. It feels too soon to accept any kind of congratulations just yet. He and Eggsy haven't had a chance to sit down and talk. He hasn't begged for forgiveness for his thoughtlessly cruel words on the day he left for Kentucky. They haven't discussed where things stand between them and what they each expect for the future.

"I'm placing you both on medical leave for three days," Merlin says. "I'll leave it to you to determine how to spend that time." The steel returns to his gaze. "Please note that is _not_ a request for information."

"Duly noted," Harry says dryly. He's fairly certain Eggsy will spill everything to Roxy Morton, but she is the very soul of discretion. They have nothing to fear from her.

"There's just one more thing," Merlin says, and he sounds faintly apologetic. "We need to find out why you weren't affected by Valentine's device."

Harry swallows hard. He knew it was coming, but that doesn't make it any easier to hear. "Yes," he says. He has his own theories, but he knows better than to offer any of them up just yet.

"It can wait until you get back," Merlin says. "But it _is_ something we need to deal with."

"I'm aware," he says. Upon their return, he had handed over the device with genuine relief; having it on his person had made him feel slightly queasy, even though he had known perfectly well that it was inert, just a construct of plastic and circuits.

There are tests in his future, exposure to the device again and its signal. CAT scans and other medical exams. What makes him so unique? What makes him immune to that neurological wave? He dreads those tests, but he knows they are necessary. If the results enable Kingsman to keep the rest of the world safe from the horrifying loss of control he experienced in the church, it's a small sacrifice to make.

"But we'll deal with that later," Merlin says. "I understand Gawain is waiting for you. Go home and get some rest, both of you. I don't want to see or hear from you for three days."

Harry nods. He's being given a gift, and he knows it. There's nothing wrong with him, certainly nothing requiring him to be placed on medical leave. This is Merlin's way of expressing his gratitude and his friendship.

Three days. They stretch before him, full of promise and potential. And suddenly Harry is almost excited, a strange, reckless happiness he's never felt before taking hold of him.

He doesn't let on, though. Ever the perfect gentleman, he remains composed as he stands up. "Thank you," he says. He starts to see himself out, but stops at the door. "You should get some rest yourself."

"Yes," Merlin says. "Now that you two are back safely, I believe I will."

Harry smiles, then leaves.

He can't wait to see Eggsy again, to reassure himself that Eggsy is all right. He wants to kiss Eggsy, hold him close, touch him all over. He wants to take Eggsy home and make him something to eat, get him situated in bed, know that he's safe for the night. 

He can't wait to get started on all those little things, all those little moments that add up to a whole lifetime together.

He just knows it's going to be everything he ever wanted.

**** 

Eggsy's feeling pretty out of it when Harry shows up. The doctor gave him a local anesthetic for the stitches he's now got, and made him swallow two painkillers before he would release him. Per Arthur's orders, apparently, he's been put on medical leave for three days.

Right about now Eggsy thinks sleeping for the entirety of those three days sounds pretty damn good.

Until he looks up and sees Harry standing framed in the doorway. He forgets all about sleeping then. "Hey," he says, and smiles. It's a stupid, dopey smile. He can feel it on his face. He feels loose and easy all over; the pain in his head is all but gone. "Look who's back."

Harry walks in. "Ready to go home?"

Eggsy blinks. He thinks about it – as best he can with his thoughts all muddled up. He has no idea what time it is, but he knows it's late. Very late. Possibly very early. The thought of having to explain to his mum why he's got stitches and a black eye is not appealing. Neither is the prospect of having Daisy shrieking in his ear.

"No," he says honestly. "Rather go home with you."

Harry gives him a fond look. "That was my next question."

"Already answered it," Eggsy says, feeling rather proud of himself. He stands up, manages not to fall down – although he does kind of sway in a circle – and feels even prouder. "These are some good drugs, let me just tell you," he says. "I'm kinda impressed."

"Yes," Harry says dryly. "I can tell."

Together they walk through Medical and toward the shuttle. Eggsy sticks close to Harry, not quite clutching at his sleeve, although it's nice to know he _could_ , if he needed to. Not that he does. Need to, that is. As long as he stays moving, he's okay. He suspects he's only gonna be in trouble once they stop.

Turns out, he's right. Mostly. When they get in the shuttle, he plops down in his seat and closes his good eye. "Ugh."

"Just rest," Harry says. He sits beside Eggsy, his voice reassuringly close.

Eggsy lets himself droop to the left. He feels Harry's arm slide about his shoulders, Harry's hand clasped about his right bicep. He leans down until he can rest his head on Harry's shoulder, and he hums contentedly. "Works for me," he murmurs.

"And me," Harry says quietly.

The shuttle takes off, headed for the shop on Savile Row. Eggsy promptly falls asleep.

****

When he wakes up, he has absolutely no idea where he is. The disorientation is bad enough, but it threatens to become full-blown panic when he can't open his right eye all the way. He looks around wildly, then goes still as recognition sinks in: he does in fact know where he is.

He was only here once, but he would know it anywhere, the walls painted a rich blue color, the furniture a deep cherry wood. He's in Harry's guest room. It's brighter in here than he's ever seen it, because the sun is out behind the drapes. According to the clock on the nightstand, it's nearly noon.

He starts to sit up, then groans as pain bursts to life behind his skull. He raises a hand to gingerly touch the bandage taped above his eyebrow, and sees that his arm is bare. "…the fuck?" Eggsy mutters.

Memory is slow to return, hazy in places. He vaguely remembers the shop, slumped on the leather sofa where once upon a time Harry had sat waiting for him to show up and start his journey toward becoming a Kingsman. Then there was a black car, probably a Kingsman cab. Someone had helped him inside, a warm hand on his back guiding him. And then…nothing. He must have passed out for good on the way here.

Which means Harry literally picked him up and carried him inside and up the stairs. Harry undressed him down to his undershirt and boxers and put him to bed. Harry set out the clothing that's in a pile at the very foot of the bed, out of reach in case he kicked in his sleep, so he wouldn't knock it to the floor.

Very carefully, Eggsy sits up. He throws back the covers and climbs out of bed. He sways for a bit, the pain in his head thudding with every beat of his heart, until he's certain that he's not going to do anything embarrassing like fall over.

The clothes on the bed are all brand new. From the underwear to the pullover, it's clearly all Kingsman-make, and all of it looks to fit perfectly. Harry must have taken it from the shop before they left, although Eggsy doesn't remember him doing it.

On the dresser are the pills the doctor gave him, antibiotics and painkillers nestled in little orange bottles. Next to them is a bottle of water, and a note.

_I hope you're feeling better today. Come down when you're ready, but take your time._

The paper is thick, a very pale grey color. The handwriting is a somewhat impatient cursive. The note isn't signed. Eggsy runs his fingertip over the monogram at the top of the page, three initials in a simple font: HWH. 

He smiles a little.

****

A shower helps him feel more human, although he has to be real careful when he's washing his hair not to bump his head or get the bandage wet. He uses the same razor and toothbrush he used on his only other stay here, finger combs his hair back, and gets dressed in the new clothes. They fit just as well as he thought they would, but he's slightly uncomfortable in them anyway. He's not sure why, but he doesn't particularly enjoy the idea of wearing Kingsman regalia from head to toe. He wants his own clothes back.

He has no idea where his suit is, though. The shirt is ruined for sure, with blood all over the collar. Possibly the jacket as well. Maybe Harry tossed them in the rubbish bin. Or maybe he's planning to take them to the Kingsman cleaners. After all, those guys are well-versed in getting blood out of bulletproof fabric – as Eggsy can personally attest.

His suit might be salvageable but his face in the mirror is a disaster beyond fixing. The bruising is dark purple and ugly as hell, extending beyond the bandage stuck on his forehead. The whole area is swollen and his right eyelid is stuck at half-mast, giving him just a sliver of blurred vision that he fervently hopes won't last. A scar he can live with. Blurry vision is something else, though. That can end his career as a Kingsman before he's barely begun.

He stares at himself for a little while longer before he finally realizes that he's putting off the moment when he has to go downstairs and talk to Harry.

Now that's it's finally here, he's actually scared shitless. There are so many things he needs to say, so many things he needs to explain. What if he fucks it all up? What if he pisses Harry off and they end up having another argument like they did before Kentucky? Only this time it will be so much worse, because they –

"Fuck," he mutters. "Just get on with it, would ya?"

He goes downstairs. He feels prickly all over with nerves, the kind of tension that's liable to make him say or do anything. He was in this mood when he stole Rottweiler's car keys that night, the night when everything began.

The realization does nothing to calm him.

Harry is sitting on the couch, but he stands up when he sees Eggsy coming down the stairs. He's dressed casually in khaki trousers and a white button-down; the top two buttons are undone, exposing the hollow of his throat. His hair is combed back but not quite so severely styled, and his glasses are simple reading glasses, not the Kingsman-issued frames. This then is what Harry Hart looks like on a day off.

"How do you feel?" Harry asks.

He remembers the hospital in Kentucky, and the day he said good-bye to Harry. He remembers asking that question, and Harry's response – the same answer he's about to give. "Been better," he says honestly. "Been worse, though, too." He lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

"Can I get you anything?" Harry asks.

Eggsy walks slowly into the living room. Already his heart is sinking. Harry sounds so formally polite, like Venice didn't happen, like they've gone right back to how things were before.

"Nah, I'm good," he says. He sits in the armchair. After a slight hesitation, Harry returns to his spot on the couch.

Silence falls between them. Eggsy looks around and realizes that they've come full circle from that night when he drank four martinis and kissed Harry. The night that Harry promised him they would talk about their future together once he became a Kingsman. Their positions are reversed from that fateful night, but the tension between them is still there, lurking and lying in wait.

He's trying to figure out how to get started when Harry speaks. "I owe you an apology, Eggsy. What I said to you before I left for Kentucky was unforgivably rude, and I was wrong."

Eggsy sits up straight in surprise. Of all the things Harry might have said, this is the last one he expected.

"I admit," Harry says, "when I received word that you had made the call to Kingsman, I did initially think that here was my chance to atone for my role in your father's death. But I can assure you that by the end of that first day, I had stopped thinking of that. You changed my mind, Eggsy. You made me see you as the man you are, not just a means to an end." He hesitates, and Eggsy can see the anguish in his eyes. "I am so sorry for what I said, and that I made you feel less than—"

" 's okay," Eggsy says quickly. He doesn't want to hear another word. He can't bear to see that look in Harry's eyes. "I know you didn't mean it. We was both angry that day. We said things we didn't mean."

Harry catches his breath. "But I—"

"I was a right prick to you, too," Eggsy says. He's had a long time to regret those awful words. _You got him stuffed here and all, too?_ "I'm sorry for all that shit I said."

Slowly Harry exhales. His shoulders slump a little. He gives Eggsy the faintest smile of relief. "Very well. I accept your apology, and I hope we can move on."

"Hell, I moved on weeks ago," Eggsy says airily, trying to lighten the mood.

Harry's smile freezes in place, then slips off his face. Seeing that, Eggsy could kick himself. He had the luxury of forgiving Harry weeks ago. But Harry only just remembered that day and the ugly things he said. His guilt is still new and raw.

"Shit," he says. "I'm sorry. Harry, I didn't mean—"

"I understand," Harry says. He looks up at Eggsy again and seems to steel himself, almost like he's expecting to be physically struck. "But you see, I had thought…once I remembered saying those things…that they were the reason you had become so distant. I thought you were still angry with me."

It's like walking into a dark room and throwing the switch, so many things are suddenly illuminated in Eggsy's mind. He thinks back on the past few months, and it's like he's seeing it all for the first time.

He sees now how confused and hurt Harry must have been by his behavior in the hospital in Kentucky, and then during those formal phone calls in the weeks afterward. Unable to remember anything to explain why Eggsy would act so differently, he must have assumed the worst – that it was because of something he did, something he couldn't remember.

And then he _had_ remembered. And he must have felt certain then that he had found his answer. Especially since that was the same day Eggsy had made his grand arsehole comment: _When we get back, I'm tellin' Merlin that I can't work with you no more. I'm done._

Eggsy groans and fights the urge to cover his face. "Oh fuck, oh Harry, I'm so sorry. It was never like that."

"I know that now," Harry says. "But please tell me what it was actually like."

Eggsy thinks about that single night they had, and the next morning with breakfast and the oyster forks and walking to the shop. He thinks about watching Harry get shot and the way he broke down crying when he learned Harry was still alive. He thinks about how everything had changed when he realized Harry didn't remember what came before Valentine shooting him.

"You didn't remember," he says simply. "But I did."

Harry looks at him, waiting for the rest of it.

So Eggsy tells him. "I love you so fucking much," he says. "And I kept thinking about that night we had, when I kissed you and you said we'd talk about things after I was a Kingsman. Only you didn't remember it anymore, and what the fuck was I supposed to do about that? I couldn't say nothin'. So I reckoned I'd back off. I'd be the best Kingsman there was, so you would see." He falters a little, embarrassed as fuck to say this kind of stuff out loud. "So you would be proud of me."

Harry's face softens. "Oh, Eggsy."

"I thought maybe then you'd fall back in love with me," Eggsy admits. "Like you was on that night, the one you didn't remember."

"I was always in love with you," Harry says quietly. "Even when I thought you didn't want to be around me."

It makes him want to do something rash and stupid, or maybe just scream in frustration. All that time wasted, all those lonely days when he had loved Harry and Harry had loved him, and they had been too wrapped up in their own heads to see it. So many times he had nearly said something, almost done something, and it kills him now to think that if he _had_ , if he had just been brave enough…

"I was just tryin' to be a good agent," Eggsy says. "I guess I was _too_ good at it, huh?"

"It would seem so," Harry replies. He gazes at Eggsy. "And for the record, I have _always_ been proud of you."

Fucking hell, he can't take this. He gets up and crosses the living room so he can sit next to Harry on the couch. He's thinking of going in for a kiss, but Harry's arms wrap around him, holding him tight, so Eggsy settles – quite happily – for a hug instead.

It's actually pretty awesome. He sits there in the circle of Harry's arms, warm and content. His head hurts, but the pain is tolerable so long as he remains still. He still wants to kiss Harry, but he's okay with waiting on that. Especially because he's pretty sure if he were to have sex right now the top of his head would cave in.

Still, no sex doesn't mean he can't touch, can't enjoy. He lets one hand drift upward to toy with the buttons of Harry's shirt. His fingers dip inside, and he lightly touches the bare skin of Harry's chest.

Harry doesn't make a sound, but Eggsy can feel him tense up a little.

It gives him a little thrill to know that he can touch Harry any time he wants. So he does it again, tracing the ridge of Harry's collarbone, then running his fingertips up the line of Harry's neck. "What about this, then?" he asks as he skims his fingers along the cut on Harry's throat. "How'd you get this?"

"That one's actually your fault," Harry says lightly.

"The fuck it is!" Eggsy retorts as he sits up. He's all set to be outraged – until he sees the teasing humor in Harry's eyes. "What are you on about?" he demands. "Blaming me for that."

"I was thinking about you," Harry says, "and wishing you were there with me on that road outside Dublin. As a result I failed to take the proper precautions, and Donald Grady's bodyguard attempted to strangle me."

Appalled, Eggsy stares at the cut. He remembers his horror at seeing the blood on Harry's neck, but even then he had no idea it was that serious. "Jesus, Harry."

"Well, quite obviously he failed," Harry says. He seems completely unperturbed; no doubt he's used to it after a lifetime of people trying to strangle him.

"Yeah, but…" Eggsy shakes his head. He still can't get over it. He had heard the sudden burst of violence that night over the feed of his glasses, but he hadn't understood what was happening at the time. He had still been in his role at the restaurant, pouring water for rich blokes and pretending not to care when they ignored him. Pretending that he wasn't spending nearly every waking moment thinking about Harry and his own breaking heart. 

Leave it to Harry to nearly get himself killed because he was thinking about Eggsy. It's kinda touching, though. In a blackly humorous way. "You really wanted me there, huh?" he says.

"I did," Harry admits. "I knew you would have enjoyed it. In fact, I have to confess that our chase through that hotel in Venice was the most fun I've had in ages. I'm quite looking forward to doing it again."

Eggsy stares at him, unsure if he's taking the piss or not. Just to be safe he says, "We _really_ need to work on what your idea of fun is."

"Yes," Harry says, and his voice is suddenly much deeper. "And I'm looking forward to that, as well."

That feeling of prickly tension overwhelms him again, only this time Eggsy knows good and well what it really is. He's very aware of their thighs pressed together on the couch, and the breadth of Harry's shoulders so near his own. He can smell Harry's cologne and see all the rich color of his eyes.

Harry leans toward him, and fuck yes, Eggsy meets him halfway, and then they're kissing.

It's a sweet kiss at first, but Eggsy quickly wants more. He knows he can't, that he's just getting himself in trouble, but he wants it too badly. He opens his mouth and clutches at Harry's shoulder, turning him to face him.

Harry makes a faint sound, a noise Eggsy feels on his lips more than he hears. It makes his cock swell and something in his chest tighten, just knowing he can do that to Harry.

The kiss deepens, wet and hot now, and Eggsy shifts his weight. Harry's hand rises and slides along his neck, his thumb brushing Eggsy's cheek so lightly as he cups Eggsy's face.

Just before he does it, Eggsy knows what he's about to do, and he whines a little as Harry breaks off the kiss. Harry silences him with a firm press of lips to his. "I don't want to hurt you," he says quietly.

And Eggsy gets it, he does, but it's so fucking unfair that he can't help protesting. "I don't care."

"But I do," Harry says. He sits there for a moment longer, his hand cradling Eggsy's face, their foreheads touching. Then he sits up, and the regret is clear on his face. "Not tonight. Not until you've healed." He hesitates, then adds, "And I'm not exactly at my best right now, either."

Eggsy winces. He could have done without that reminder of how he shot Harry in the back – twice. But still, he knows it's for the best. With the way his head is pounding, sex is right out the window today. "Yeah, all right," he says, disgruntled.

Harry's arm settles about his shoulders, and he lets himself be pulled down to rest his head on Harry's shoulder. "It's all right," Harry says. "We've waited this long. A few more days won't matter."

And they have three days, Eggsy suddenly remembers. Three days of medical leave. Three days to sit around the house and heal up. The prospect brightens his mood immensely. "I guess," he says.

"But in the meantime," Harry says, "I can think of nothing I'd like more than to just spend time with you."

Eggsy thinks about martinis and etiquette lessons, and he nods. "Yeah."

"Perhaps telling you every so often how much I love you."

"Sounds good to me," Eggsy says with approval.

"And of course you are free to tell me the same, when you wish," Harry says.

"I can do that," Eggsy says with a little smile.

"I thought I might begin right now," Harry says. He presses a kiss to the top of Eggsy's head. "I love you very much, dearest."

Eggsy closes his eyes and makes a little sound of contentment. He could definitely get used to hearing that, he thinks.

He knows he's being a lazy git, just sitting here doing nothing. He should text his mum and see how she's doing. He won't let her know he's back just yet, not until he's doing a little better – and after he's come up with a convincing cover story to explain his injury. He should get in touch with Roxy and fill her in, tell her the good news about him and Harry. He should figure out when he can sneak back home and grab some of his clothes and stuff so he can spend the next three days here.

But he doesn't want to do any of that stuff right now. He just wants to be here with Harry.

He's got questions for Harry, things to ask about their future, about what they're going to tell everyone at HQ and what happens to them now. He wonders if the next three days will lead to another three days, and another, until this house becomes his home. He can't wait to take Harry to bed, to find out what Harry is like when he's naked and undone. He can't wait to wake up next to Harry in the morning and know that they have the rest of the day ahead of them.

"Eggsy?"

"Mmm?" He picks up his head.

Harry looks down at him. "Would you like some lunch?"

Eggsy thinks about it. He could eat, he realizes. "Yeah," he says. "Okay."

Harry lifts his arm from where it rests atop Eggsy's shoulders and stands up. He walks through the dining room, where once upon a time Eggsy sat and learned which fork to use during each course at a fancy dinner. He goes into the kitchen and starts opening cabinets.

Eggsy gets up and follows, more slowly. This is life with Harry Hart, he thinks. It's not always about bullets and chasing bad guys and saving the world. It's these little moments, these simple things.

It's everything he could ever want.

"Want some help?" he offers as he walks into the kitchen.

Harry looks up at him and smiles. "Yes," he says. "Thank you."

"Just don't expect me to wear no apron," Eggsy says. "I got a reputation to maintain, and all."

Harry chuckles. "I wouldn't dream of it." He heads for the refrigerator, but as he reaches the place where Eggsy stands, he slows down and gives Eggsy a kiss before moving on.

Yeah, Eggsy thinks. This is the life for him.


End file.
